Rebirth
by RavenWolf3
Summary: AU. When the world ends post 'Rain of Fire', the PTB decide to bring their two champions back to life to start the new world. Will be entirely B/A.
1. Prologue

Even as he watched his son and the woman he loved make love, his mind was only on one thing. Strangely, that thing was Buffy. The apocalypse was here. It was raining fire. He'd failed to stop the end of the world. And now everyone would pay for it.

He wondered if she was still alive. If the fire had reached Sunnydale yet. She wouldn't know. She'd have no idea. He wondered if she would be scared, though he knew in his heart that she wouldn't. She would take it in stride, she would hold those she loved close as she watched the sky crash down around her. 

His mind briefly touched on the thought that she might have stopped it. If he hadn't been so caught up in his little love triangle with Cordy, then he might have thought of that. But with his fate reflected in the eyes of death, true death, it seemed all so trivial. In hindsight, his path should've been clear.

But he had been blinded. Cordelia, with her stunning smile and her sparkling personality had distracted him like a pretty piece of jewelry. But her lure had mostly been in what she could make him forget, not what she could give him. She had had the potential to help him wipe Buffy from his memory.

Now, it seemed like he had been so stupid. As he watched Connor move within her, her hands curling in his hair, it was all so clear. So crystal...He had been so stupid. And now it was too late.

He just wished...He wanted to see her again. Not to touch, or even to speak to, just to see her. Just to know that she was okay. That she was getting along with her boyfriend, if she had one. That she was happy. Even if in a few hours, she would be dead. Actually, that wasn't true. She might already be dead. Fire might be raining down on her head, burning down her house, killing her slowly.

The thought made him flinch and wonder how much time he had left. The city was burning. The end was beginning. Over two hundred years of existence, and now it was to end. And him with only one regret. Still, it wasn't as if he wasn't ready to go. He hadn't expected it, but he was ready. After realizing that he had been fooling himself when he thought he could ever love another, he was ready to die. If he had failed in his duty to save the world, then he deserved to die.

Buffy would die. And this time there would be no one left to bring her bad. Fred would die, and Gunn. He hoped they'd managed to work out their differences. Lorne would die, if he wasn't already dead. And Wes, whom he'd finally forgiven, would die. 

"It's not too late." Angel nearly jumped out of his skin when the voice came from behind him. There weren't many people who could do that. Spike could. And, well, so could Buffy.

She cocked her head to the side, and a river of her blonde hair. Her hazel eyes stared up at him, clear and unafraid. Even in the face of death, she had no fear. Which made sense, since she'd already died twice.

He didn't know what to say. Or even where to start. Words were insufficient. So he just studied her, the casual way she had cocked her hip, the way her hair seemed to form a halo around her face. She was even more beautiful than he remembered her. Even against the backdrop of the burning sky.

"Hello, lover." He remembered the words well, but this time they held no menace. Softly spoken, with a hint of sadness. Resignation.

"Buffy? Why are you..." 

"Here? End of the world and all, I figured I should at least show up." Blood still poured from his wounds, and suddenly, he realized that he looked like crap. And all the old feelings of being insufficient welled up again. It had been ages since he'd wondered if he was worth it. Well, no, that wasn't true. He wondered that every day. But when he thought about it then, he wondered if he was worth it in the cosmic scheme of things. Not if he was good enough to lick the dirt off this angel's shoes. Which he was pretty sure he wasn't.

It had been so long since he had been with her. Since he had been able to hold her against the things that came in the night, the ones that had nothing to do with demons or the end of the world. Normal, human things. And now that he looked at her again, she was more aged looking than she had been before. There were the beginnings of lines around her eyes, and even the look in them reminded him of someone who'd seen too much.

He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling dizzy. And then he staggered. A hand brought to his neck revealed that he had lost copious amounts of blood. And the rate of blood loss wasn't slowing down anytime soon.

"Buffy..." he trailed off. His thoughts were growing fuzzy, and losing their coherency. He couldn't remember if Buffy was real or just a figment of his imagination. And through it all the fire fell from the sky and burned, burned, burned...

He started towards her in slow steps and limps, trying to hold himself together. He had wanted to see her one last time, but now he realized that it wasn't enough. It would never be enough. He had to touch, to hold. He staggered and fell.

But instead of hitting the rough concrete like he had expected, he was caught by her small hands and strong frame. Slowly, he lifted his head to stare into her eyes. "What happened to you?" she asked, her tone steeped in concern.

He didn't have the heart to answer her. He simply sagged to the ground, and she followed him. His legs crumpled against his body, he laid his head against her breast. He didn't have to think anymore. He didn't have to watch anymore. He could just...be. For the first time in a very long time, he felt both defenseless and safe.

Instinctively, her hands came up to stroke his hair. "I tried, Buffy. I tried so hard. But it wasn't enough..." He collapsed, and unbidden tears rose to his eyes. It was okay to cry here.

"I know, baby. I know." She held him, and together, they watched the world end. The fire grew thicker. Screams were finally heard to waft up through the air to them. Fire rained down beside them, narrowly missing them.

Angel turned his face up to her. He had one more thing to say. "I love you, Buffy. Always." He was crying now, shaking his head as tears ran down his face. "I never stopped. Never. There was never anyone I ever loved before you, nor after. Please believe me," he sobbed.

She pressed kisses to his cheeks and to his eyelids, to his brow. "I know. And I've always loved you, baby. Ever since I saw you. I still do. God, Angel, I love you so much it hurts." Her kisses became more ferocious as fire filled their view. Nothing existed but the flame and them. And the pressed together, almost one, as their world ended, and through the pain as they died. And when Angel's body turned to ash, Buffy held his remains in her hands, until she too, was consumed.

***

The world had ended. The fertile valleys of California, the desert landscapes of the Sahara, the snowy mountains of Tibet, the jungles of South America, all had been torched. Life was not easily found. The world was a wasteland. Few things had survived, almost all of them animal or plant. All was barren, and across the land, no sound was heard but the blowing of the wind across the waves and the earth.

Above, though, the Powers That Be met in a conference. Nothing that had been had surprised them, and nothing that would be. The fate of the world had been cast long before. And they knew what they had to do. The world would start anew, would rise from the ashes, beginning with their champion vampire and his Slayer.


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: A friend of mine e-mailed me and told me that I could use a beta for this series. Taking her advice to heart, I'd like to know if anyone would be interested. If you want to beta the rest of this fic, please e-mail me or leave a review or something. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The world lay in ruins, but hope still remained. There were pockets left, hulking cities that seemed unscathed but for the charred and hideous corpses littering their streets. Everyone who had not been burned alive by the fire had been eaten by the demons that had ensued. The hell spawn had retreated back to the shadows of the hell now, and everywhere, there was nothing.

But then, on a beach by the ocean, a strange light glowed. Two sparks that grew and grew, side by side, on the desolate beach. They began to take form, that of a man and a woman. Or rather, an ex-vampire and a Slayer. Their bodies took form, and the light receded until it was almost nothing. Their nude forms were left prostrate on the sand. The only sound was the lapping of the barren sea against the shore.

All was still. But the light was not yet gone. It had receded until it glowed only in their hearts. It burned warmly, becoming visible through their skin. And then, in unison, they took their first breaths in this new world.

The first thing Buffy noticed was that she was naked. She gasped and did her best to cover herself. Angel woke more slowly, sitting up and looking around, seemingly unashamed of his nudity. Then he saw Buffy.

Their eyes met in confusion. "Where are we?" Buffy asked.

"I'm gonna go out on a limb and say the beach." Buffy didn't have the grace to smile at his dry humor. She was too afraid.

"More importantly, who are you? And for that matter, who am I?" She chewed on her lip and kept her arms crossed over her chest, and her legs drawn up into her body. Angel still ignored his lack of clothing. 

"I don't know, but for now, I think it would be wise to take cover and get you some clothing." He gestured up towards the gathering rain clouds. "There's a storm coming."

"I can see that," she snapped irritably. Seeing his kicked-puppy look, she immediately felt contrite. "I'm sorry," she said to the kind stranger with the beautiful brown eyes. "I'm just...afraid. I can't remember who I am." She sighed. "You're probably right." 

Angel gave her a tight smile, and then stood up. "Come on. We can probably shelter under those buildings there." He pointed towards a cluster of abandoned beach houses. He started off in that direction, and she had no choice but to follow him. The whole time, she was hyper-aware of her nudity, and worried about going into a populated area.

The moment she stepped onto the paved street of the town, she felt that something was wrong. She couldn't describe it, couldn't categorize it except to say that it felt like...Like she wasn't on the same world she'd been born in. Like while she'd slept, someone had pulled the carpet out from underneath her feet, and now she was left rubbing her head on the floor and wondering what had happened.

She didn't realize that she'd stopped until the man returned for him. "Come on," he whispered, hesitating for a moment before grabbing her by the hand. She thrilled at the contact, but didn't speak to him. It seemed impossible to break the thick silence that clouded the streets.

Once they'd walked a little ways, she stopped. "Something's wrong. Why aren't there any people?" After making the statement, she looked around and was more acutely aware of the fact. Cars sat in driveways. Sprinklers went off. Then she noticed something else strange. Most of the grass had been burned away. And some of the buildings had scorch marks on them.

A newspaper blew across the street. A shiver ran down her spine and she clutched to the man's hand with both of hers. He was the only person she'd seen...He seemed safe. And his warm brown eyes were kind. A part of her knew that she could trust him, and since she didn't have anything else to guide her, she did.

"I don't know." His eyes scanned the horizon quickly, though he knew he would find nothing new. A rumble of thunder startled them both. Then a lighting flash. Fat raindrops began to fall with painful force. At the rate it was coming, they would be drenched in moments.

"Come on!" he said, charging towards the nearest house. There was a black Four-Runner in the driveway and the TV was still on. Out of instinctive courtesy, he took the time to slam his fist on the door. After realizing he would have to break it down, he took a deep breath and slammed his shoulder into the door. The door shattered.

He stepped back, with a grim satisfaction. The girl next to him pulled him into the abandoned building before he could gain the sense to stop standing and staring at his own handiwork.

Once inside, they stopped in their tracks. The room was entirely untouched. Everything was in order, and the TV was playing cartoons. The only problem was that there didn't seem to be anyone watching it. "Hello?" Buffy yelled impulsively. She was met with silence.

She looked down, suddenly realizing that they were still holding hands. "Umm. Well. I guess I'll go find some clothes, okay?" She blushed after realizing that she'd been walking around holding hands with this naked stranger when she was naked herself. There was no way that didn't look bad.

She climbed up the stairs and repressed a shudder as the silence blanketed her. She assumed that the man would be looking for clothing, too. It was only practical. And besides, they were both still wet.

On that thought, she detoured into the bathroom. She pulled a towel down off the rack and tried not to feel freaked as she dried herself off with it. It felt so..._weird_ to be walking around in a stranger's house and using their things with barely a thought for the owners. Not to mention that she was naked.

But once she was dry she felt a little bit better. She went into the master bedroom and sorted through the drawers and closet before she found a sundress. Dismally inappropriate, but she felt like being obtuse. There was no better way than defying Mother Nature itself.

She pulled on the sundress and blow dried her hair. She felt slightly better, but she still wasn't wearing underwear or a bra. The thought of wearing an utter stranger's undergarments freaked her out beyond belief, and she decided that it would be fine. The man downstairs had already seen her in all her glory.

When she got downstairs, the man wasn't there. She fought the urge to panic. It was fine, he was just in another room. He wouldn't leave her here all alone, would he? No, he wouldn't. She'd just met him, but she felt like she knew him so well. There was no way he would leave her alone when she was this vulnerable.

And indeed he hadn't. She found him in the kitchen, sorting through the cupboards. He looked up when she entered, and he smiled. "Just looking for something to eat."

He had apparently found clothing while she was upstairs. He was now clad in a pair of black jeans and an open button-down shirt. She started to smile back at him when a clap of sudden thunder scared her out of her skin. 

Once she'd gotten over the surprise, she looked up at him to find him staring down with amusement. She conjured up her fiercest glare, and then took the box of cereal he was offering her. Now that he mentioned it, she was hungry.

She started back towards the stairs, realizing that they couldn't stay down there without a door. But she soon noticed that he wasn't following her. She turned around and stared. "Well, aren't you coming? We can't stay down here; we'll be flooded. Plus, it's getting chilly." She rubbed her arms to demonstrate, suddenly wishing she'd been sensible and chosen something warm to wear.

He looked down at the floor, and she saw with amusement that he was blushing slightly. "Oh, right. Sorry, I was just--I thought you might want some time alone. To try and piece your memories back together." He gave a half-hearted smile. "But hey, if you want company, who am I to deny you?"

***

The storm went on all night. Between the thunder crashes, she could hear the waves breaking on the shore with enormous destructive force. And occasionally, she was quick enough to see the lightning flash on the crests of the waves. The rain drove into the windows in buckets and the wind howled through the abandoned door. It made Buffy cringe to know that they had no door downstairs to protect them.

To make up for it, she insisted that the stranger stay with her in the master bedroom. She knew it was inappropriate, but she was irrationally scared of the storm. After he was inside with her, she'd closed and locked the door, and then asked that he hold her instead of sleep on the floor. She knew he wouldn't take advantage. He'd seen her naked and defenseless, and he hadn't done anything. There was no reason to believe he would do something to her now. And besides, he was strong and his arms felt good around her.

At first it was awkward. He didn't seem to be comfortable with touching her. She'd wondered why, feeling slightly hurt, before he revealed something. "I think we're lovers."  


"What?!" She said emphatically. She wanted to know exactly where that information had come from. If he was just making it up to get into her pants...

"Think about it. When we came to, we were naked on a beach together. Sounds like a great place for love-making to me. And besides...I get this weird feeling when I look at you. Like I know that I can trust you. And I have this instinctual need to...to..." He broke off, thinking better of what he'd been planning on saying.

"To what?" she asked suspiciously. 

He lowered his head in shame. "To take care of you. Protect you. To...comfort you."

Buffy felt her jaw drop. That had been unexpected. She thought he was going to say something like...kiss her. Not...that.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I'll go now, and I promise that I won't bother you again. You don't have to worry about me attacking you or anything."

He turned to leave, but then felt her tiny hand on his shoulder. "Please don't leave. You...you make me feel better somehow. And I think you may be right. About us being lovers. Touching you...feels right." She bit her lower lip in embarrassment. She hadn't meant to say that. He'd just seemed so heart-broken...She was beginning to understand what he meant about the strange protective urges. She didn't want to see him hurt in any way.

"Thank you." An awkward silence had ensued, followed by a sharp crack of a branch breaking free from its tree. He'd hugged her then, held her tight against his body, and the next thing she knew, she was falling asleep on the bed in his arms.


	3. Chapter 2

Angel woke with his arms still wrapped around Buffy, and the first thing he could think was that this was familiar. Terrifyingly familiar. Heart-achingly familiar. In fact, any moment now, he should be screaming in pain as his soul deserted him for the third...or was it fourth?...time. 

He tensed slightly, praying to the gods that it wouldn't happen again. Not again. How could he have been stupid enough to...No. Wait. He didn't remember what had happened. He didn't know where he was. None of this was familiar in the slightest except...Oh.

He took a shaky breath, hoping that he had finally recovered all his memories. He remembered waking on the beach, breaking into the house, and falling asleep with Buffy in his arms. And he remembered what had come before, the ending of the world and his utter failure. Ouch. Maybe that was a memory he could have done without. Cordelia and Connor, and...

So...they hadn't. His soul was safe. But something else felt...off. He felt a little bit too energized. Like his whole body was in motion. But he wasn't moving at all. Maddening pumping and a sound in his ears that was familiar and yet utterly foreign to him. He was warm, flushed. Blood was rushing around his circulatory system at an alarming speed. This shouldn't be happening. He couldn't understand the steady thumping in his ears, when he was used to only cold silence.

Angel threw the covers off and sat up, suddenly unbearably hot. He looked uncomprehendingly down at his chest, skin flushed with blood. His whole body was tinged with a warm aura. Slowly, he brought one hand to his chest. And nearly fell off the bed.

The steady, sedate thump of his heart sped up in excitement.

His breathing became harsh as he remembered that he actually had to breathe now. Human. He was human. For the third time. His gaze turned towards Buffy and he remembered a different time. A time when he'd been human and things had been looking up. A day when he'd been able to have his perfect happiness again and again.

He looked away. Buffy didn't remember that day. And that was the way it should be. He only hoped that this wouldn't turn out to be a repeat. He didn't think he could...give her up again. He was only so strong. And she looked so innocent and beautiful in her sleep. Perfect. If he was given the chance with her again, he wouldn't be able to give it up, not for anything on Heaven or Earth.

He got up and went downstairs. He didn't understand...anything, really. But he would have to wait and see what would happen now. The world had ended, and by all means, they shouldn't be here. The fact that they were made his mind boggle and he knew that there was a reason for this. Now all they had to do was wait for it to be revealed.

***

Buffy woke with a vague sense of purpose. Like there was something incredibly important that she was supposed to do right away, but she couldn't remember.

She thought for a moment, and then smiled as her memory came back to her. Hmm. Dying three times had to be some kind of record.

***

When she went downstairs, she found Angel sitting in the kitchen, sipping from a mug of steaming coffee. The look on his face was introspective and pleasured. He looked very happy. His eyes were closed, and at first, he didn't seem to notice her. He took another sip from his cup.

"I thought vampires couldn't taste anything but blood." She questioned, alerting him to her presence.

He left his eyes closed. "Oh, they can't." He smelled the coffee with a blissful expression on his face. "But humans can. Hmm. I'd almost forgotten what coffee tasted like."

"You mean---" Buffy tried to contain the joy that rose in her throat. She felt like squealing. Angel...human? It was too good to be true. Too wonderful to actually happen to her.

He opened his eyes. A truly angelic smile crossed his face. "Yeah. I'm human again."

"Oh my god," she breathed, before running over and throwing her arms around his neck. The coffee splashed dangerously in its mug and Angel put it down quickly. He turned to hug her back. "This is...this is so amazing. I can't--You're human!"

She kissed him on the forehead with a barely constrained pleasure. He smiled up at her, feeling her joy like the rays of the sun itself. Come to think of it...He hadn't felt the sun since his venture into Pylea. And that was so long ago...

But a glance out the window showed that it was still raining heavily. The clouds covered the sun.

Buffy followed his gaze, and suddenly sobered. She released him from her grasp and sat down at a chair across from him. "They're all dead, aren't they." She phrased it as a statement of truth, daring him to contradict her. Or pleading with him to.

Angel stared into his coffee. "Yes. At least I think so. Maybe they escaped, or the Powers brought them back..." He looked up into her now hooded hazel eyes. "No. They're dead."

She nodded and bit her lip to stop from crying. It was beginning to tremble uncontrollably, and tears formed at the edges of her eyes. "Now I guess I know why they wanted me back so badly," she choked, her voice harsh. "Oh god. It...it hurts so bad!"

Angel hugged her. He fought back his own sadness. Fred had just begun to live again. And Connor....Cordelia. The thought of her hurt. His betrayal. She'd loved him, and he hadn't been able to love her back the way she deserved. Moot point now, he thought morbidly. Wesley. He hadn't gotten the chance to tell him that he was forgiven. Gunn. Lorne. Willow. Giles. Hell, even Xander. All the people he'd known were dead. All of them. And only he and his forbidden love were allowed to continue in their stead.

"I-I feel so hypocritical." Buffy sobbed. "I want them back so b-badly. Even though I k-know they're happy now. In Heaven." A fresh flood of tears broke loose and she let herself cry, though she wasn't sure whether it was for herself, who'd been cheated for a third time out of her peace, or for her friends, who had it now, at the cost of never seeing them again. "It's...it's not so bad. Heaven is a good place. They're all so h-happy up there."

She bit her lip as a terrifying thought stole into her head. Terrifying, and yet at the same time, so horribly intriguing that she couldn't let it go. "It...it wouldn't be so bad to go there, would it? We escaped by chance and chance alone. And...what sort of life can we live here? Alone, with no human contact. We could...we could go. Go there. And leave this place finally." She looked up at his face with hope. He would tell her that it was all right. He would. And as long as he said that it was okay, that they could...go, it would be fine. Right?

But his face was strangely hard and cold. "If we died, Buffy, I highly doubt that we'd end up in the same places. But feel free to write me a postcard from Heaven." He was so bitter, she thought. So angry. And really, she couldn't blame him. If she knew that she would never, ever find peace, even after death, she would be, too. 

"I'm sorry, Angel," she said, finally pulling herself back together. "I didn't mean--"

He cut her off. "And we didn't escape by accident. We were put here on purpose. By the Powers That Be. There's a reason for this, and it's only a matter of time before it's revealed." His lips thinned. "For now, I think we should check on the state of this town. See if anyone at all survived."

A light of hope appeared in Buffy's eyes. "If there are survivors here, then...then they might have made it, right?"

"I wouldn't...I wouldn't count on it, Buffy." God, it hurt to see the light in her eyes go out like that. And to know that he was the one who had stomped on that one faint ember of hope. But it was better this way. At least now she wouldn't be so devastated when they found out that her friends hadn't survived. 

"You're right. Of course." She looked down at the rumpled sundress she still wore. "I guess I should go change into something warmer." She gazed out the window. "I wonder if it will rain for forty days and forty nights. A little late for the apocalypse, but still. It's symbolic. Water dousing the fires that destroyed us all..." She gave him a little half smile, and then went on her way, leaving him with too many issues to work out and too little time to do it in.

***

Forty-five minutes later, they were still trudging the abandoned streets, wet and chilled to the bone. And still empty-handed. Buffy tried not to think of the implications. No one had survived, then. It truly had been the end of the world.

It seemed that they'd stumbled onto a medium-sized beach side town. Housing developments as far as the eye could see, mini-marts, and shopping malls. They'd stopped at one, after Angel had insisted they stock up on food. Despite everything, he was still enchanted by the idea of being human again. This time maybe permanently.

Her blonde hair was hanging limp and wet around her face, and her clothes were utterly ruined. But Buffy couldn't help but want to continue the search. Though she was tired and cold, she felt like if she could find one person, just one, then maybe...maybe there were others. It was her job to protect the human race. If there were none left, then she had no purpose. At all. No reason for being. She'd been the Slayer for so long, she didn't think she could remember how to live for herself and herself alone. Let alone be able to do it.

But then they saw the first of the corpses. A charred, ruined creature spread out on the concrete street, reaching forward. The skin had been burned away and the muscles looked like raw beef. Buffy suppressed a shudder. And then the urge to vomit violently in the street when she saw a rat making off with what looked like an eyeball. At least there are still animals, she thought darkly.

Further along, they found more of the same. Some were burned and unrecognizable. Others were untouched by the fire but had been destroyed by the tremendous wounds that had taken their lives. It became more and more concentrated as they went on, and Angel tried time and again to convince Buffy to go back.

But she would not be swayed. Some morbid curiosity stirred in her, and she began to recognize a sort of pattern in the bodies. They were arranged according to something. And though it probably didn't matter now, she wanted to know what.

Finally, they reached the center of the devastation. A clear patch in the street around which the bodies were piled thickly. Buffy stood stock-still and looked out around her. Thousands had died here. An entire town. Just...dead. 

"Buffy," Angel was pulling on her sleeve. His attention was focused at a point beyond her shoulder.

She turned and squeaked in dismay. A shadow had fallen over her face. A hideous demon, six feet tall, stood in front of her. He was black, with body armor and a nose ring. His eyes were red, and he had horns. She wondered dimly how she was supposed to fight this thing before it spoke.

"I'm Skip. I'm here to show you your path."


	4. Chapter 3

Buffy froze. There was no way that this vicious looking demon was a messenger for the Powers. Just no way.

"I know what you're thinking," he said in his deep, gravelly, and not just a little bit disconcerting voice. "I'm a demon sent straight from hell to kill you by pretending to be your friend." He smiled, which was distinctively creepy on such a face. "The only thing I can say to you is--I'm not. Whistler was busy doing damage control, so they sent me instead."

Buffy's mouth opened. Once, twice. But she couldn't seem to think of something to say. Finally, Angel filled in for her. "I think I know of you. Cordelia said something about a demon named Skip guiding her."

Buffy looked at him. Then she looked back at Skip. She deflated. "All right. I'll believe you. For now." She studied the ground at his feet for a moment. "So what's this about showing us our paths?"

Skip smiled. Now he was in his element. "Ah, yes." He began to walk. They followed him, stepping over charred corpses and ruined bodies. "Awful, isn't it?" He said, gesturing at the graveyard that stretched away around them.

Buffy's lips thinned. There was no need to answer. Her green eyes scanned the horizon. It was drizzling now, and the sun peeked from behind its shroud of clouds. "And yet, this isn't the end. The world didn't actually end. The people in it died. But the world still goes on."

Suddenly, they were away from the wreckage. Walking on a beach where the foamy sea coughed up bits of still living kelp. A crab scuttled along the shore, and somewhere a seagull lent its harsh cry to the sound of waves. "So does life. Look around you. This world is anything but dead. That's where you two come in." Buffy looked cynically at Angel, who shrugged his shoulders slightly. "Believe it or not, there are still humans left alive." Buffy didn't dare to hope. Instead, she reached out and grasped Angel's hand to her tightly. 

Skip looked at her with what could have been a sorrowful look. "Not your friends, kiddo. I'm sorry. But there are others. Others that need your guidance." Angel risked a glance sideways, half afraid that he would find a hoard of people begging for their leadership. To his relief there was nothing but open sand.

Buffy's head was down, and she was staring at the ground. So they were dead then. She bit her lip until it bled to keep from screaming. Her friends...Xander, loyal, determined, brave Xander. Willow. Giles. He was her father...Anya. Spike...God, Spike had just begun to heal. He could've done so much good...

She refused to cry. She'd already done that. She'd had her time to mourn, and now her time wasn't even her own anymore. It still belonged to the world. She'd been brought back by the Powers this time. To help create the new world. And for once, she was grateful for her purpose, her duty, her calling. Her reason for being. One that she could never doubt.

Watery, determined green eyes looked up. "Tell us what we have to do."

***

After they had finished talking, they found themselves back in the house they had claimed as theirs. Skip had told them that they needed time to adjust. Angel was human, and, well, they hadn't even seen each other in at least a year. Hadn't worked together for longer than that.

This town was, as they had initially suspected, deserted. Everyone in it had been killed. There were still a few small demons that lurked around, picking flesh from the dead when night fell, but nothing that would be dangerous to either of them.

Once they felt they were ready, they were to leave. Head northeast until they reached a small valley. The survivors of the surrounding areas had managed to find their way there and were now lost and confused. Most of them hadn't even believed in demons, or that it was even possible for the world to end. Everything had fallen in on their heads and someone would have to pick up the pieces.

When they had banded that group together, they were to wait for the Oracles to return in L.A. Though the originals had been killed, the Powers had appointed new ones. They had their work cut out for them

***

Buffy had been elated to see that the television still worked. She didn't understand how or why, but she spent her time watching cartoons while Angel ran through as much food as he could find. "You're gonna make yourself sick!" she called, between mouthfuls of ice cream.

Angel reappeared from the kitchen, pizza in one hand and sandwich in the other. "Don't really care. I can taste again!" he said with his mouth full.

  
Buffy rolled her eyes. But the corners of her mouth twitched to see Angel so happy. She couldn't remember him ever being so enthusiastic. So...happy. Dorky. It was good to see him finally come out of his broody little shell.

She patted the couch next to her. "Sit. But leave the pizza." It had anchovies on it. And pineapple. And mushrooms. The very thought was making her sick.

Angel took a moment to shove the rest of the piece into his mouth before sitting down next to her. She smiled and leaned against him, her head on his shoulder. 

He looked somewhat startled. It had been awhile since someone had been so openly affectionate with him. Buffy was the only one. Jerkily, he brought one arm around to rest on her shoulders. She smiled up at him and he relaxed.

He found it oddly appropriate that she was snuggling closer to him. When he was a vampire, he'd always relied on her for warmth. His own personal sun. But now, he finally had a chance to pay her back at least somewhat.

He pulled her more tightly against him. He could feel each breath enter his lungs and was conscious of the way she shifted to listen to his heart. He was human now. He had a chance with her.

Buffy was still watching the television avidly, eating ice cream from the carton. Angel found that he was more interested in her than the TV.

She must have noticed the weight of his gaze, because she looked up at him, meeting his stare. Wordlessly, she put the ice cream aside. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and then she pulled his head down to hers and kissed him. Sweet and slow and perfect, the way it had always been meant to be.

Their eyes met afterwards. "Buffy, we can't--" Angel began.

"Why not?" Though she sounded like a pouting child, the question was valid. Angel's automatic response to her advance was...just that. He'd gotten so used to saying no, he hadn't even thought of why for so long that he'd forgotten. He opened his mouth to answer. But he came up with nothing.

His silence was taken as encouragement. Buffy rested her forehead against his. "Angel, there's no reason we can't do this. Not unless you don't want to. You heard what Skip said. We've got a new duty now. One that will allow us to be together."

But only if you want to, Angel. I don't...I know we've spent a long time apart. I know about Cordelia. And you know about Spike. But if you've moved on...Please, just tell me." She'd pulled her head back, suddenly not sure where their boundaries lay.

Angel looped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her back to him. "I never moved on. I love you, Buffy. Forever." He whispered into her ear, his lips so close they brushed against her skin as he spoke. She shivered.

A small smile crossed her face. She swung herself around and straddled Angel's lap. "Glad we got that cleared up, then." She moved in for a kiss.

They didn't leave the couch for a very, very long time.

***

Buffy was wearing Angel's leather duster. And nothing else. She was cuddled against his nude form with only the duster to shield her.

He kissed the top of her head. "There's no one outside to see you, you know."

"I know. It just feels weird to be naked when there's that door open there." She gestured to where the shattered remains of the door hung limply in the hinges.

He kissed the top of her head again. One of his hands was laced with hers at their side. "How are we supposed to know when to leave?" He asked.

He felt her lithe shoulders shrug against him. "I don't know. And really, I don't even want to think about it. Too much at one time." She smiled at the last and turned around to kiss him again.

He shuddered as her body dragged sensually against his. She was so warm and alive. He felt privileged to finally be able to offer her more of the same. His own heartbeat had long ago stopped distracting him, but he stopped for a moment to listen to it anyway.

Sensing his thoughts, Buffy laid her head against his chest. Just listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat.

"I love you, Angel."

Suddenly, a thought struck Angel. He could...Now that he was human, he and Buffy could live out normal in its truest sense. He could have children...

And then, he remembered. Like a bucket of cold ice water dumped on his head. Connor in his little bassinet. Connor swaddled in blankets. Connor sucking his thumb. Connor clutching Angel's finger so hard that he had to be the son of a vampire. Connor...

Buffy stopped when she realized that Angel wasn't kissing her back. She pulled back to stare into his eyes. Confused hazel met horrified brown.

Brusquely, he pushed her away and leapt up off the couch. Without looking back, he went up the stairs and into one of the bedrooms, slamming the door behind him.

He didn't look up when Buffy knocked on the door. She was insistent; the knocking became louder and more agitated. He didn't even hear it through the noise of his own thoughts.

Outside, Buffy through courtesy to the wind and slammed the door open, ready to be very, very angry. Only to find her lover curled up in a fetal position on the bed.

Her rage quieted itself, and she sat down on the bed next to him. Gingerly, she put one hand on his back. This time, it was his turn to lean heavily against her.

"Why did you leave like that?" she asked quietly, half-afraid of the answer. A sudden thought came to her, and she stiffened when she remembered waking alone after losing her virginity.

"I'm sorry," came the muffled answer.

"You're forgiven," she said, rubbing her hand in soothing circles on his back. "But why?"

He turned his face up to her. "My son is dead, Buffy. Connor is dead."


	5. Chapter 4

A/N: I seriously apologize for the wonky innuendo at the end. It was late, I was tired, and that's what happened. 

Buffy couldn't say that she knew how he felt, because she quite simply didn't. She'd never had a child of her own. The closest she'd come was Dawn, and though she'd loved her sister dearly, she was able to let her go. Probably because she understood what it meant. She knew that Dawn was in Heaven, watching her and waiting. And that she was safe. Even the hurt she felt at her death could be soothed by that knowledge.

Angel didn't have that. Buffy knew of no way to convey the utter sense of peace Connor must now have. The beautiful contentment, and the joy, and the love. She suspected that to truly understand, one must have been there themselves.

His warm tears fell against her bare chest. She stroked his hair and did her best to comfort her in any way she could, but she had no way to tell him what he really needed to know. She'd known that Angel had loved his son. More so because he'd never thought it possible. And now he was gone.

The tears stopped. She could feel his wracking sobs lessen and then stop altogether, aside from the occasional hitching breath. He sat up and wiped at the tear stains on his face. "Thank you," he said earnestly to her.

She smiled softly, confused. What did he have to thank her for? Five hundred years in hell and losing his soul. That was about it. 

He stood up and looked out the window. The sky was cornflower blue, and the storm had passed. "There has to be a way to bring him back. To bring them all back."  


A fearful churning began in Buffy's stomach. It knotted up her insides and crept up her throat feeling like bile. It tasted of hypocrisy. "Angel, no."

"Why not?" he said angrily. Self-righteously. She couldn't make him understand. It probably wasn't even possible. Neither of them were witches. They couldn't do magick. And there was probably nothing left on this Earth that could bring them back at all.

But her treacherous heart leapt. She could...she could have them back. Maybe. But how could she do that to her friends? How could she do the same thing to them? She'd...after she'd been resurrected, she'd wanted to die again. More than anything. She'd just wanted that peace. Was she really the kind of monster who would inflict that on the ones she loved most?

"Because I couldn't do that to my friends. I couldn't do that to you, or to me. The guilt, Angel. I wouldn't be able to live with myself, knowing what I'd taken from them. It would be selfish. If you'd stop...stop thinking about yourself, you'd realize that." She winced even as she said the last words, knowing that they would hurt him. She hadn't wanted to say it, but really, it was true.

Angel's face ran through a mixture of emotions. Anger. Incredulity. Amazement. Righteous indignation. His face turned a shade redder. Buffy had to stop herself from cringing. She'd seen Angel in all his rage, and it wasn't pretty. Strangely enough, even as Angelus, his full rage hadn't ever been directed at her. And she hated the thought that now, when she was right, he would get angry with her. And...maybe even leave her. She readied herself for a verbal pummeling.

But instead, she found herself enveloped in his warm embrace. Tears were once again streaming down his face, and he clutched her to him like she was the only thing to keep him from drowning in his own tears. "You're right," he gasped into her shoulder. "It just...he was my _son_, Buffy. My own flesh-and-blood. And he's gone now. They all are...But you're right. If Heaven is even half of what you say it is, then even if I could, I wouldn't bring them back."

"I'm sorry, my Angel."

***

The next day, they got together duffel bags they found in the closet. They stuffed them full of everything they thought they would need for their journey. Food, clothes, first aid supplies, even some games. Buffy was sorry to be leaving the T.V. behind, and Angel would miss the ice cream. The previous residents had had good taste in it.

When they'd scavenged everything useful from that house, they moved to the one next door. They hadn't been able to find any first aid cream, and they wanted to pick up anything they'd missed.

Then, they set out. All their apprehension had been wiped out. They were together. They were strong. They would do what was expected of them, and then they would do more. The sun had set on the old, and was rising in the east on the new.

They attempted to leave their grief behind them. Lock it away in the place where they'd first realized their loss. Whether or not they had been successful remained to be seen.

Their friends were gone. Their family, their co-workers, their support. All of them were dead. But they were alive. In order to stay that way, they needed to accept that and move on.

They hadn't gone more than eight or nine miles when they stopped the next night. They were now in a different part of the city. When night fell, they broke into the best house they could find. Their compunctions about taking other people's things had long ago been left behind.

Despite their efforts, the best place they could find was a rather dilapidated pea-green house with weeds growing in the yard and crooked shutters. They'd found their way into what had been the bad part of town. Of course, there weren't any people left to make it that way, so they were just as safe as they could be. But the atmosphere was still reminiscent of its former days, when gangs roamed the streets and doors were locked at all times. The buildings themselves seemed to remember their occupants, and when they broke the lock on the door, the whole house creaked around them as if objecting to their very presence.

Buffy shuddered and took Angel's hand. Not as reassurance against the dark things of the night, but to remind herself that she was not alone. That he had not left her while she had been distracted.

A shape moved in the shadows. Buffy jumped, and then flashed Angel a nervous smile when he looked down at her. "Nothing. Probably a cat or something."

There was a single, dirty bed in the farthest corner of the house. The sheets were filthy, and the bed itself looked like it was about to fall apart. Instead of sleeping on it, Buffy and Angel opted for using the blankets they'd brought with them. "After all, sleeping on the floor is good for your spine."

"Try and remember that tomorrow morning. Or tonight at midnight when you still haven't gone to sleep." Angel gave her a wry grin. She scoffed.

At midnight, she was still awake. Not so much because of discomfort, though that was bad enough, but nervousness. She was jumpy. That and the fact that her brain refused to shut down. Thoughts kept chasing themselves through her brain, and she couldn't seem to quiet them. Thoughts about the future. Thoughts about the past. Her mind conjured up a horrible image of her friends burning and dying. She pushed it away, preferring to live in ignorance. She didn't need to know exactly what had happened, and she didn't want to.

She shifted on her side, trying not to wake Angel. He had gone out like a light the moment they laid down. She supposed it was only natural. They had been walking all day. At one point, they'd tried to break into a car and drive, but the alarm had gone off, and they'd abandoned that idea.

Though she didn't want to wake him, she couldn't help but reach out to touch his forehead, and brushed her hand along his cheek. He was so beautiful in the moonlight. But even more so in the sunlight. He just seemed to soak it up, like it was pure joy, as cliche as that was. 

"Buffy?" he asked sleepily. Oh crap.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up." She hadn't moved her hand from its position on his face.

"'S alright. What's wrong? Nightmares?" His chocolate eyes turned to her in concern.

She shook her head. "No. I was just...I was just making sure you were still there." She looked away and blushed. It had been a long time since she'd felt like blushing. Somehow, Angel made her feel like a silly little school girl again. And at the same time, he made her feel so immensely powerful and strong.

He turned his head to kiss her knuckles. A shiver ran through her. "I know. I keep...I keep thinking that this is some kind of weird dream. Like a nightmare and a fantasy rolled all into one. On the one hand, I'm human again. And we're together. But on the other hand, everyone we knew and loved is dead. And once again, we have to save the world." He pressed her hand to his cheek. "If it helps any, I am still here, and I don't plan on going anywhere."

She smiled. Weakly, albeit, but still a smile. "Thank you for that." She nuzzled against his neck, and he curled around her instinctively. His newfound body heat cocooned her, and the whirlwind of thoughts in her head settled down. "Love you," she murmured sleepily. She drifted off in the cradle of his arms.

He kissed her on the top of her head. "Love you, too."

***

The next day, they were on the move again. The quickest way to the refuge was cross-country from there, and hijacking a car at this point would be useless.

The day's walk was long and hard, but at dusk, they had come to the outskirts of the city. The foothills rolled away and up into mountains. From one of them, Buffy stood and looked out over the town, and beyond that, the ocean. The sun was setting blood red in the west, staining the sea as it went.

Angel came to stand beside her. She sighed overdramatically. "Goodbye, civilization. How I will miss you. Warm bed at night. Easy access to food. Roof over my head. Let's just face it: I'm not an outdoorsy kind of girl." She leaned against him. 

A smile crossed his face and danced in his eyes. "What am I going to do with you, Buffy?"  


"I don't know. Something really, really good. Right?" She batted her eyes at him, and her hand moved up his thigh.

"One can only hope." He said, his voice higher pitched than normal. She kissed him. When they parted, the sun had gone done, leaving only spills of red and orange in the darkening sky.

"We should probably get some sleep. We've got a long ways to go." She gestured towards the panoramic view of mountains rising against a starry backdrop.

Angel swallowed his lust. She led him back to where they'd rolled their blankets out on the hill. To his surprise, where there had been two, there was now only one, with both sets of blankets. Buffy stripped down to her underwear and lay down on the blankets. "Aren't you coming to bed, Angel?"

He smirked. Maybe he shouldn't have been so quick to assume that bed meant sleep...

***

The next few days passed in the same way. Angel got up at sunrise nearly every day, just to see it and know that he wouldn't burst into flames the moment the rays touched his skin. Buffy preferred to sleep for at least a couple more hours, being of the more sane variety of person. 

And every day, they walked. Further and further into the mountains---and away from civilization. The wilderness was surprisingly refreshing. Mostly because it didn't give off the eerie feeling of the world put on pause. The animals went about their business as always, and the only strange thing was that they occasionally came to a place where all the foliage had been burned away in a large circle. They avoided those places.

Buffy was beginning to wonder how long this would take. They'd been traveling for a week, and as far as she could tell, there were still no sign of people.

But they were making progress. They'd spotted a very prominent pass in the mountains, and were heading towards it. Since they hadn't been given very specific directions, they assumed that the valley would be easy to find. The trees were thinning out, as was the air. They were gaining altitude now, and the pass was close at hand.

Angel thought that they'd make it through within the next few days. Which was very good, in Buffy's mind. She'd never been dirtier in her entire life. There was dirt in her hair, in her nails, ingrained in her skin. She hadn't had much of a chance to bathe, except in the occasional stream. Her hair was suffering, though she kept it as well groomed as she could. And she swore that Angel always managed to find the one spot with the most rocks for them to sleep on.

Not that the refuge would be much better. But it was progress. And once they had gotten the people there organized, they could head to L.A., where Buffy was sure she could find hot and cold running water, and a bed sans rocks.


	6. Chapter 5

They'd been walking tirelessly for two weeks when they finally saw it. They reached the pass in the mountains, and went through to the other side. And there, spread out on the green valley floor, was the remnant of the human species from several counties. The turnout was depressing, to say the least. There were maybe two hundred. Three hundred. Such a small percentage of what there had been...

Buffy drew in a deep breath. They were her responsibility now. Hers and Angel's. No matter how pitiful. 

They found a winding trail down into the valley. It was rocky and lined with scraggly pine trees on either side. Angel had to catch Buffy several times when she nearly slipped down. It was steep and tough going.

About halfway down, Buffy's Slayer sense started to twitch. She put a hand on Angel's chest to halt his forward motion. He stopped. She nodded mutely towards a bush. There was something in it...She turned suddenly. Her instincts were telling her that they were surrounded, but there was no one there.

She grabbed Angel's arm and tried to retreat back up the trail. But she stumbled, and a rock slid down into one of the bushes. It moved.

And then, from all around them, people burst from the bushes and trees. Young people, armed to the teeth. Their clothes were in tatters and they were dirty. But they were organized. In seconds, Buffy and Angel were facing outwards and were surrounded by people.

Guns and crossbows and sticks and pitchforks...The list went on. Most of the weapons they'd found weren't in very good shape. But they were still dangerous. Buffy was certain that she couldn't take them all, especially not with Angel in his human state. She looked up into his sad eyes, and saw that he'd reached the same conclusion. He was hindering their escape.

So she took the other option. She held her hands out, flat, palms up. "We come in peace." She said, hoping to inject some humor into the situation and also to get the shotgun pointed at her chest lowered.

A scrawny man with sandy blonde hair stepped forward. "I'm Matt. Who are you?" His tone was still hostile, and he still held his knife in a defensive position, but at least he was talking to them. He seemed to be the leader.

"I'm Buffy, and this is Angel."

"Where are you from?" He asked, gesturing with his knife. It made Buffy nervous. If she wanted to, she could take the knife from him and gut him with it in under five seconds. It was the other ten she was worried about.

"Umm, a beach town. About seventy miles away. I don't know what it was called..." Buffy answered. Angel stayed silent. The youth gestured sharply with his knife.

"That's not a lot of information to go on. How do we know that you're not one of _them_?" Fear was in his voice at the last sentence.

"Who are _they_?" Buffy asked, though she had a good idea what he was talking about. The demons that had destroyed their world.

Matt shook his head. "I won't speak of them here. There have been too many killings in the last few days. To talk about them would invite them back." Buffy nodded sagely, though she was confused. A few days? The world had ended almost a month ago. And Skip had told them that most of the demons were gone...

At Matt's orders, guns were pointed to their heads, and they were escorted down the trail and into one of the last human civilizations on Earth.

***

When they reached the floor of the valley, they were ushered towards a circle of canvas camping tents. People stopped what they were doing to watch the strange occurrence. While they marched, Buffy kept one eye on Matt, and the other on Angel. She knew how hard it was for him to know that he was the only thing restraining her. She wanted badly to comfort him, but there was a number of guns pointed at her back and head, and so she refrained.

Instead, she focused on Matt. From the way he was holding his knife, she could tell that he wasn't used to using it. And he wasn't very well trained, either. He held it awkwardly, keeping it as far away from him as he could without being obvious. She could tell that he didn't seem to like the idea of violence. But really, he was just a kid. Some random nineteen year old who was just trying to survive in the world. Or what was left of it.

They reached the center of the temporary settlement. Various assortments of tents and makeshift shelters were spread out haphazardly around the central area. A group of men and women were milling around at a table. They looked up when Matt and his crew got nearer.

"We found them wandering around the edge of the refuge. What should we do with them, Dad?" Matt spoke to a man sitting down. He was older, maybe in his late forties. His hair was gray and had fallen out in a circle at the back of his head. He was neither fat nor skinny, and he was wearing a striped shirt. But his mouth formed into a thin line when Matt reported to him.

"Let them go. Matt, what were you _thinking_? This is supposed to be a refuge! These people should have been welcomed, not ushered in at gunpoint!" Matt winced. He sighed heavily, and gestured to his crew, most of whom had already lowered their weapons.

"You're free to go." He said. Then he turned back to his father. "You know what I was thinking. People keep dying, Dad. We can never be too careful. And we can't afford to be so trusting."

Buffy wanted to stay and see what was going on. She wanted to know more about these people's problems, and to help. Skip had told them that they were supposed to lead these people. And she wanted to get a head start.

But Angel touched her gently on the arm, and she followed him away from the argument that was quickly growing heated behind them. "We should set ourselves up close to the middle. That way, we can keep an eye on the goings on." 

Buffy shot a nervous look back behind them. "You're not wrong. I think that group of adults there was the closest thing these people have to leaders. Did you happen to catch the name of Matt's dad?"  


Angel shook his head. "No." He grabbed Buffy's chin and turned her head to face him. Her brows were knitted together with worry, and she was biting her lip. "Buffy. You need to relax. I know you want to help, but you have to understand that you can't just tell these people that you're going to lead them. Get to know them first. Understand them. Help them as best you can. But no one, least of all them, expects you to step up now. And you should probably get some rest now. It's been a long day."

She nodded and smiled at him. "How is it that you're always so smart about these things?"

He smiled. "Two hundred plus years of living tends to help with your experience in some areas." 

Buffy wryly returned his smile. "Like how to be bossy?"

"Exactly. I lived with _Spike_ for a hundred years. You don't take control with him, and the next thing you know, you're running away from an angry mob with torches and pitchforks. And he's screaming 'it's not my bloody fault!' while trying to cop a feel with Dru."

He stopped when she realized that Buffy wasn't smiling anymore. In fact, her face had taken on a somber air and she wasn't making eye contact with him. "Buffy? Is something wrong?"

She started to shake her head no, but then stopped. "Yes. Angel, there's...um, there's something you should know about Spike. About me and Spike, actually."

She bit her lip. A cold darkness appeared in the pit of Angel's stomach. It couldn't possibly...it couldn't be what he thought. Could it? Bufffy wouldn't...she was too good for that.

"We slept together. More than once. He, um, he went and he got a soul. For me." Like a punch to his solar plexus. The implications...She said Spike not only had a soul, but that he'd gotten it himself. For _her_. Which only reminded him of what a horrible person he'd been as a vampire. Angelus would never have willingly gotten himself a soul. And he would _never_ have done it for a woman. Even if it was Buffy.

"There's more. He was in love with me. Before the soul. And...he tried to rape me after I told him it was over. That's when he went to get his soul. He was making progress...and then this." She gestured around vaguely. "We were helping him. I know it." Tears came to her eyes.

Angel didn't want to ask this question. Really, really didn't want to. He didn't want to ask and he didn't really want to know the answer. But he had to. He couldn't _not_ know. He swallowed past the lump in his throat. "Did you love him?"

"I don't know. Not before. I cared about him...but not love. But when he came back with a soul...it was so hard for him, Angel. He was trying so hard. I think...I think I did love him. For a little while. But it doesn't matter now." She put both her hands on the sides of his face and pulled his head to look at her. "And it was nothing compared to what we have." Maybe so, but Angel couldn't help the storm of cold jealousy that washed through him. It left him shaking slightly with its force. The idea that one of his own childer would dare to touch _his_ mate...

His thought process stopped dead in its tracks. He remembered telling Cordelia that he loved her. He remembered the dreams he'd had of her. She was so small and fragile and dull compared to Buffy. But...he'd still cared for her. And if they were being honest, he should tell Buffy. He nodded to himself. "There's something I should tell you, then. About Cordelia." She put a finger to his lips.

"I already know."

"You do?" Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Angel hadn't wanted her to find out on her own. He'd wanted to be able to tell her himself. If he even told her at all, to be perfectly honest.

"All of it. Anya even...she even asked me if I wanted a vengeance spell done on you for being unfaithful. Which really isn't that fair, since I was doing the same thing."

"I loved her. I did. But...she was acting differently. She wasn't Cordelia anymore." He brushed a strand of hair away from Buffy's face. "She was acting like you. I think that's why I fell for her. She was as close to you as I could get."

Both of them had watery eyes now. Buffy bent Angel's head down so she could kiss each of his eyelids. "Come on, now. None of this. I love you. And I know you love me. So let's get ourselves set up."

***

They worked in silence, but they never strayed far from one another. They laid out all of their supplies, and set up their sleeping bags and blankets. Once that was done, night was already beginning to fall.

"The days seem so short now," Buffy sighed.

"It's winter. And I know how you feel. It doesn't seem like I could ever get enough sun now that I'm human." What Angel didn't say was how much he still enjoyed the night. The way it made him feel comfortable. At home. He knew the way the night felt, because he'd lived in it for so long.

Instead of crawling into her own sleeping bag, Buffy lay down on Angel's. Made more uncomfortable by the fact that Angel was already in it.

"Buffy, I don't think this is going to work," he said, a smile in his voice.

She pouted. He didn't see it very well, though because he didn't have his night vision anymore. But she dragged her own sleeping bag over, and unzipped it and his. Then she pulled on the end of his, rolling him over and making the sleeping bag into a straight blanket. She lay down next to him, skin to skin. And she pulled the second sleeping bag over them.

"That work well enough for you?" She asked softly, and then kissed him gently on the lips.

"Mmm, yeah." She snuggled up close to him and rested her head under his chin. He kissed the top of her head, and smiled. "We'll work it out, Buffy. We will. We're together, and we're alive, and that's all that matters."  


"You're just saying that to make me feel better." She said, her voice muffled by his chest. The vibrations of it sent sweet shivers down his spine.

"Did it work?"

"Yes." Idly, she worked her hands up under the back of his shirt, tracing the muscles she found there. She marveled in the warmth of his skin and the pulse of his blood beneath it. Her hands traveled up to his shoulder blade, tracing the pattern she knew to be there.

"Buffy, if you keep doing that, we won't get any sleep."  


She gave him another kiss. "We don't have to go anywhere tomorrow. Let's...sleep in."

Angel was about to agree with her when a scream rang out in the night.


	7. Chapter 6

Both of them froze. All around them, lanterns were turned on and people rushed out from their tents waving weapons. The scream had sounded from the edge of the camp. Buffy felt the presence of a vampire faintly on her Slayer radar.

"Come on, Angel!" She got up and pulled on some shoes. She was almost gone before she realized that Angel was hanging back. "Are you coming or not?" She asked irritatedly. She had to find out who'd screamed and why. If they were still alive, she could probably figure out what the demon who'd attacked looked like.

"You go on," he said hollowly. "I'm not much good like this. I don't even have a weapon." Buffy wanted to sit back down and touch him. Tell him that it didn't matter to her if he could fight or not. That he was still Angel, but in a human body.

But someone was in trouble. And they would die if she wasted any more time trying to comfort Angel about his weaknesses. So she threw him a sorrowful look and took off running.

Shouts echoed around her. The whole camp was in an uproar. She caught a glimpse of Matt running in another direction, and decided to follow him. It seemed like he was monitoring the situation well enough.

He was fast, but she was the Slayer. It wasn't long before she caught up with him. He turned to look at her in surprise, but then faced forward and kept on running. His breathing echoed loudly in her ears.

They ducked through a small grove of trees with low-hanging branches. On the other side, they saw the cause of the disturbance.

A body lay in the clearing. It was a woman's, and her hands lay across her stomach. A thin trail of blood ran from a wound in her neck. Her attacker was nowhere in sight. But there was a trail of broken branches and trampled turf leading away through the underbrush. Buffy thought for a moment about following it to its end, but then the woman groaned.

She looked quickly at Matt, and then knelt down beside the woman. She pulled back the raven hair to reveal twin puncture wounds at the neck. Blood was still flowing from the open wounds. "Are you alright?" she asked. "Can you talk?"

The woman nodded slowly. 

"What attacked you? Did you recognize it? Was it human?"

She shook her head 'no'. "I...I didn't get a very good look. It looked human...but there was something wrong with its face."

Vampires then. Buffy shook her head. She should have followed the trail straight off. But vampires were fast. It was probably way ahead of her right now. If it was even still running. The scary part was, when it reverted to its human face, she wouldn't be able to recognize it. Sure, her Slayer sense would go off, but she wouldn't know who it was. Especially with the densely packed way the people had settled in. The vampire could be set up right next to them...and she'd only ever know if she was alone with it.

She shivered. And then she froze. Angel. He was alone. This thing had taken off in the direction of the center of the settlement. Right towards him. He was probably still sitting there, waiting for her to come back. It would sneak up behind him...Or maybe just walk past. He wouldn't know what hit him. And he would be dead before he could fight back.

She threw another apologetic look to Matt, who was staring at her with suspicion. Well, he'd just have to deal with it. She had to get back to Angel.

She stood up and took off running. Again. She was beginning to get winded when she saw their camp. Angel's body was sprawled out over the sleeping bags. Her heart sped up in fear. Adrenalin pumped through her veins, fueled by fear and desperation.

She'd never run faster in her life.

She skidded to a stop next to their sleeping bags and without pause dropped to her knees and put her fingers to his neck to check for a pulse.   


His eyes opened. "Buffy? What are you doing?" He sat up. There were no puncture wounds. He looked groggy. But then, he'd been sleeping, hadn't he?

Buffy breathed a sigh of relief. "Sorry. Thought you were dead for a moment there."

He chose to ignore her strange comment. "So? What happened?"

"Vampire attack. An Asian woman, in a small grove of trees about a mile from here. She's still alive. But I wonder what she was doing out there. It's a ways from the main area, and she seemed to be all alone. I probably should have asked."  


"Then why are you back here so quickly?"

At this, she blushed. "Um, I thought the vampire might have been headed this way. When I saw you all sprawled out like that, I thought it might have gotten you. Sorry."

Angel gave her a reassuring hug. "I'm fine. I promise." He dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

"I was just so worried. I don't think...I don't think I could take it if something happened to you. Not again. Not after...Not after everything."

"I know," he said, kissing her forehead. "I know. I promise nothing will happen to me, as long as you promise me something. You have to promise that you won't go off and pull that dying stunt you did a year and a half ago. I've lost you once. I'll never lose you again." He promised, burying his face in her hair.

"I think we've got the market cornered on the whole dying thing. Between us, we've died four times. Let's not either of us do it again, okay?" The tears in the corners of her eyes threatened to spill as she remembered the sick sound the sword had made as it slid into Angel's gut. The soft, confused look he gave her. The questioning way he'd said her name. 

"I don't blame you for it, Buffy. It wasn't your fault. It was mine. I got what I deserved," he said, reading her mind. He was breathing hard now, as if fighting back sobs. So much blood...So much pain on his head. He deserved to know what it felt like. She pressed her hands against his chest and nuzzled into his neck. 

"Things are different now, Angel. It's a new world. You're human. Not Angelus. Not ever again."  


"I love you, Buffy. Forever."

"That is the whole point, isn't it?" Angel pulled back and gave her a questioning look. She waved her hand in dismissal. "It's nothing. Just a dream I had. While you were...where you were."

"Hell."  


"Yeah. Hey, it's getting late. We should sleep. There's important...um, stuff we have to do tomorrow."  


"You mean the part where we tell all these people that we're supposed to be in charge and that we need them all to move to the ruins of L.A. to meet up with some mystical Oracles who are going to tell us what we need to do?"

She swatted at him lightly. "When you say it like that it sounds impossible."

***

When Buffy first woke up, she thought she was still dreaming. Soft, buttery sunlight bathed her warmly and kissed her eyelids. She was curled tightly against a firm, warm body. Angel. His breath came in and out steadily, and his arm was draped around her shoulders. She felt safe, secure, and happy. All seemed right with the world.

When she opened her eyes, though, reality intruded on her not-dream. The mountains rose majestically in the background, but beneath them, tired and desperate people built fires to cook their meager breakfasts. As secluded and peaceful as the valley was, they would have to leave. And soon. People were running out of food, and if last night was any example, being picked off by opportunistic vampires.

Buffy stretched out her arms, careful not to disturb Angel. He looked so peaceful when he slept. The age that he carried around with him like a heavy coat, weighing him down, seemed to have disappeared. The lines around his eyes had all but disappeared, and as he slept, he smiled slightly and called out her name.

It made her feel warm inside, and loved. Something she'd been missing for a long time, before he came back. She'd almost gotten used to the cold emptiness inside her, almost forgotten that there was something better out there. And now that she had it again, she couldn't believe she'd ever lived without it. Or him.

As she sat up and started to brush her hair with a stolen comb, she wondered if she should be guilty for being so happy now. Or as close to happy as she suspected she would ever get. All her friends but him were dead. As was most of the world's population. So many people...just gone. Their lives snuffed out like candles in a strong breeze. But she had Angel...Should she be guilty that she almost thought it worth it?

She shook her head to clear the heavy and depressing thoughts away, instead letting the lighter and more mundane ones rise to the surface. What were they going to have for breakfast? They had a few supplies left, but the bread was stale, and they hadn't had meat since they'd left. There were a few vegetables in there, but none of them looked very fresh or appetizing.

She stood up and straightened out her clothes. She'd slept in them, this night and many others. They'd had to pack light, and as a consequence, she only had a few changes of clothes. But she did feel uncomfortable talking to strangers in what now felt like her PJs.

She spotted Matt and his dad in a camper about fifty feet away. She smiled and walked over there. They were by no definition friends, but Matt was the only person she actually knew here. So what if he'd tried to shoot her a mere twenty-four hours ago?

"Hey," she called in warning. Both men looked up at her in suspicion. She thought for a moment that maybe this hadn't been a good idea, but then again, if she was supposed to lead these people, she might as well get to know them.

But it was too early in the morning for heavy conversation. The sun was just peeking between a pass in the mountains, and her mind was still halfway dreaming.

"Hello," Matt's father said, extending his hand. When he smiled at her, the edges of his eyes crinkled up with genuine happiness. He seemed to be a kind person, the perfect father, to all appearances. "I don't believe we've met."

"Oh, hi. I'm Buffy Summers. Over there is my boyfriend, Angel. And before you ask, yes that is his real name. I was just wondering if we could borrow some food from you. We're all out. It took longer to hike up here than we expected." She smiled and cocked her head apologetically.

Matt opened his mouth to say something, but his father cut him off. "I'm Jacob. Jacob Miller. You've already met my son, Matt." Matt nodded his head sullenly. "And of course you can borrow some food. Matt, why don't you run inside and grab some of those sausages and eggs." Not a question. An order. And his eyes seemed to harden when he spoke to his son. Buffy wondered what was going on there.

Matt left to do as he was bidden. But not without an angry glare at his father's back. Buffy nodded at the camper. "Good idea, bringing that with you. Wish I'd've thought of it."

"Actually, it's ours. I was surprised to see that it had been saved from the fires and the...the other things. It's great to have around, though. If you need anything else, feel free to ask. We've got plenty."

Buffy nodded and smiled and took the food gratefully when Matt brought it back. When she touched his hand on accident, though, something strange happened. Matt froze. And when she looked up into his eyes, there was a strange-yet-familiar spark burning there.

Creeped out, she grabbed the food, said thank you again, and headed back towards their little campsite, where Angel was just beginning to wake.

***

Angel smiled to feel the sunshine on his face. It was warm and forgiving, and it made him realize how right he'd been when he'd compared Buffy to it.

But then he frowned. She wasn't there. He reached an arm out, searching for her familiar form. But it was gone.

He opened his eyes then, and saw that she wasn't there at all. He was about to panic, when he saw her coming towards him, a grocery bag in hand.

He sighed in relief, and lay back on the ground. He couldn't believe he'd gotten so panicky over her not being there. It wasn't as if there had been a giant bloodstain there or something. She'd just left for a bit, that's all. As his heart rate returned to normal, he thought, 'Now I know how she felt.' And vowed to always be there when she woke up.

"Hey," he said, the sleepiness cleared from his voice by the momentary freak out. "What do you have there?"

"Breakfast," she said, bright and happy. In Angel's mind, it was far too early to be so...awake. She produced a lighter from her pocket, and walked over to a strange pile of sticks that Angel now realized was supposed to be kindling for a fire.

"Wait," he said, and sat up fully. "You should put stones around it, first. Just to make sure that you don't catch anything on fire."

"Good idea. But in my defense, this is my first camping trip. Like, ever."

"So you keep saying," Angel said wryly. Across the way, Matt was staring at them. Or, to be more specific, her. As soon as he noticed Angel looking at him, he stopped, and went back to whatever it was he was doing. Angel frowned. He didn't like the vibe he got from that kid. It made him feel...protective. Like he needed to be defending himself and Buffy. He made a mental note to keep an eye on the kid, and then went back to showing Buffy how to cook over an open fire.


	8. Chapter 7

When they finished eating breakfast, it hit Buffy that there was nothing left to procrastinate with. Which meant that she'd have to face the monumental task of rallying the people of the valley around them.

But the only problem was that she wasn't quite sure how to go about it. 

She sat by their now-extinguished fire, curled up at Angel's side again. She looked up at him, and could tell that he was thinking exactly the same thing. She could practically hear the gears working in his brain. 

She waited for him to say something, anything, but when he stayed silent, she jumped up. "Okay, well, I'm gonna go talk to Matt and his dad. See who's in charge here. Wanna come?"

Angel frowned. "Buffy, I don't know about this Matt kid. Have you seen the way he looks at you? It's like he's got a crush on you or something."

Though the possibility was a very real one, Buffy purposefully ignored it. She didn't even want to _think_ about it. Mainly because it would create so many more problems for her. Besides, Matt was just so _young_. Sure, in actuality, he was only a couple of years younger, but Buffy could tell that he was still a child inside. Whereas she had lost what little of her childhood she'd had early in life, when she'd been Called.

She forced a smile. "Well, I'm going over there, and you can either come with me or not. Whichever you prefer." She said sunnily. Angel's frown only deepened.

"I'll come with you. We're in this together. And besides, I don't want that _kid_ to try anything." He rumbled. Buffy looked at him. He was forced to admit that Buffy was more than capable of defending herself. At least to himself. He would never tell that to _her_. And his protective instinct wasn't listening, either, and told him to follow her wherever she went, and make sure she came to no harm.

She kissed him lightly. "You're so cute when you're overprotective." Angel growled.

Buffy smiled and grabbed his hand. "I thought we got rid of that habit when you turned human."

"Some things never change."

"Like your jealous streak?" She teased gently as she led him back towards the Millers' campground. 

Matt saw them long before they got there, and was standing with his hands on his hips, waiting. There was a glint in his eye. Angel didn't like it, but he knew that once Buffy had her mind made up, there was no way he was going to change it. So he followed along without complaint. Well, if without complaint excluded the momentous glower on his face.

Buffy, used to her boyfriend's behavior, charged on with a sunny smile on her face and Angel's hand in a death grip as she dragged him along.

She stopped in front of Matt, Angel looming like a dark and vengeful cloud over her shoulder, and spoke. "Hey, um, Matt, is your dad around?"

Matt nodded sharply. "Over there," he said tersely. If Buffy had to guess, his manner probably had something to do with Angel and the angry look pasted permanently to his face.

She smiled in thanks, and then dragged Angel over to another campsite, where Jacob Miller was sitting on a picnic table under an awning, talking with several other parent-aged people.

Silence fell when they noticed Buffy and Angel approaching. Mr. Miller seemed to be trying really hard to be welcoming, but Buffy noted that he was failing miserably. There was a hard look in his eye that said they'd interrupted something important.

There was a woman there, who looked to be in her early thirties, and two other men, who appeared to be brothers. Buffy surveyed them carefully. None of them looked like fighters. In fact, they looked like your quintessential soccer moms and dads. Totally unsuited to lead one of the last few surviving colonies of humans on Earth. Especially one that was under constant attack from opportunistic vampires and various other creatures of the night.

Buffy thinned her lips as she thought about what to do. Surely they wouldn't just step down to her. She was only twenty-two. Not fit, in their eyes, to lead. Angel, on the other hand, might have a chance. He looked young and fit, but his eyes were so wise that no one could mistake him for a child. He had the air of one who knew what he was doing, all the time.

Neither party said anything. Buffy knew they were sizing her up, and she shifted uncomfortably. Angel, seizing his chance to rescue her from herself, spoke up. "I'm sure you've all heard by now that there was an attack last night. A woman was nearly killed by a vampire."

Eyes widened in disbelief, but they still did not speak. Angel thought it rather odd that they'd survived the end of the world by fire and demons and still refused to believe in vampires. "Yes, a vampire. Honestly, is it so hard to believe? After what you've gone through? After what we've all gone through?"

He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and arranging his speech in his mind, before continuing. "Buffy and I were sent here to help. We died during the apocalypse, but the Powers That Be saw fit to resurrect us. They directed us here, to you. Their messenger told us that we were supposed to take you all to L.A. There we would meet up with the Oracles, who would tell us what to do next. Most likely go to meet other people who survived. If civilization is to rebuild itself, it must be unified. Do you understand?"

There were a few disbelieving stares, but they didn't hold raw shock. Instead of looking like they'd had cold water splashed in their faces, the other people there were just tiredly skeptical. Even with all that had happened, it was hard for them to just let go of everything they'd known.

Finally, Mr. Miller said, "Why should we believe you?"

Angel nodded at Buffy. Buffy leaned down, picked up a good-sized rock, and crushed it. "I'm the Slayer," she explained. "It was...it _is_ my job to hunt vampires and demons."

Mr. Miller nodded, satisfied. But the woman spoke up. "Then it's your fault the world ended. My husband was eaten alive by one of these demons. One of these demons that it was _your_ job to protect us against! If what you say is true, then all of this is _your_ fault!! How dare you come and expect to lead us when it was your _failure_ that landed all of us here in the first place?!? Do you have any idea how many people must be dead by now? Are still dying?" The woman had rapidly gotten hysterical, her voice rising in pitch until she was shrieking. Buffy had gone pale as a sheet.

One of the two brothers clamped a hand on her arm. "Denise. Calm down," he said authoritatively. Mr. Miller looked at them apologetically. 

"I'm sorry. She's been hit pretty hard by all of this. We all have. So...do you think you could tone it down a notch? We're not ready for saviors or Oracles or anything. We just need time to pull ourselves together."

Buffy was about to fall apart. Angel could just tell. To another, she might have just looked slightly pale. He, on the other hand, noticed the slight tremble of her lips, the way her hand was sweaty in his, the way she was clutching at him tightly. But he couldn't let this go. Not yet. 

"We don't have _time_. I assume that you four are the leaders here. Fine. All we ask for is a chance to talk to these people. It's not safe here anymore. The vampires that have been attacking are multiplying. The longer you wait, the more people will die. Please, just give us a chance."

Mr. Miller looked at the other three. Denise was still blotchy with anger. The brother that had grabbed her before was now standing slightly behind her. The other one was still seated, and looking as calm as ever. He nodded, just once, affirmatively. 

Mr. Miller looked up at them. "Alright. We'll talk to people. Give you a chance. But I can't guarantee anything. We won't force them to listen to you if they don't want to. And I don't think they will." He shrugged. "But as I said, we'll try." He looked at Buffy who was shaking visibly. "You should take her back to your camp. She's not looking too well." Angel looked reluctant. Mr. Miller nodded reassuringly. "We'll let you know when they've decided."

Smiling forcedly and painfully, Angel stroked the back of Buffy's hand with his thumb as he led her away. He had no idea how he was going to repair the damage that woman had wrought with her hateful words. He knew that Buffy considered the apocalypse her fault. He'd only just barely convinced her to let it go. But to have someone else _blaming_ her outright for it was more than her noble heart could stand. Angel knew he was going to have to have a talk with this Denise woman.

But for now, he had to keep Buffy from falling apart. She'd been pushed to the edge the past few months, and she'd finally reached her breaking point. And now it was Angel's job to catch her as she fell.

He gently sat her down amid the various sleeping bags, blankets, and pillows that formed a sort of nest. Their 'bed'. Her lower lip trembled. "They're right, you know." She said.

Angel, who had been expecting this, said, "No, _she's_ not. She was angry, Buffy. She needed someone to lash out at. She said herself that she lost her husband. Your unwitting admission to being the Slayer made you the perfect target."  


"I should've stopped it." She said, her voice gaining strength. Her lower lip stopped trembling, but there was a coldness to her eyes that told him that she'd just shut down. She never used to do this. Never so completely. He brought a hand to her face, wondering sadly why she'd acquired this habit. Even though part of him knew that it was his fault for leaving her.

"No, Buffy. If anyone should have stopped it, it would be me. I was the one who was there. I knew about it. And _I_ failed."

"It's not your job to stop the apocalypse. It's mine. And since the world ended, I guess that means I failed." Angel started to protest. She held up her hand to silence him. "You were only helping because you felt you were obligated. You were Angelus before you were Angel, and you'd done bad things you needed to atone for. The super-strength helped you there."  


"Buffy, where are you going with this?" Angel asked warily.

"Let me finish. This has helped me to figure some stuff out, important stuff. Stuff that's gonna affect us both. You're not a vampire anymore. You don't have super-strength or healing, and you're not obligated to help save the world. The only reason you are even here is because I am. And it's putting you in danger. Every second you're near me, you're in danger. That's always been true. The only difference is, now you're human, and you can't defend yourself. And I won't always be there."  


"Buffy, what are you saying?" Angel asked, praying that it wasn't what he thought. It couldn't be. Not after all they'd been through together. She meant too _much_ for this to be happening.

"I don't think you should be around me anymore." Angel had had a hundred reasons, defenses, ready for what he'd thought was coming. But once she'd said the words, everything left him. He could only stare in mute agony. _Pain. Painpainpainpainpain. Stop...no..come back._ He felt like liquid fire was ripping him apart from the inside. His heart was contracting so painfully that he was sure he would die. Funny, he'd skipped out on that experience the last time.

He loved her so much. The first time he'd realized that, it was like a flood had been released, and he knew that there would never be any hope of getting it back. But she'd always made him fill full. Whole. Loved. And now she was taking that away, and everything inside just felt empty.

"Buffy, no." He whispered, voice thick with emotion. _Need to die...can't be without her...need to die. Hurts too much._

She nodded woodenly. "I'm sorry, Angel. I love you, but this is the way it has to be. For both of us. I'll get my things."

Angel sat down on the ground. His fingernails bit into his palms as he clenched his hands in an attempt not to cry. No. This wasn't the end, he kept telling himself. She was just very emotional right now. Things would get better. They would go back to normal. This wasn't the end.

The part of his brain attuned to breathing, the part that had only recently reawoken, seemed to have disappeared, leaving him to consciously drag in each breath. Each harsh, painful rush of air that scalded his throat and burned his lungs. God, he wanted to die. _Stop breathing. No more pain. Buffy, I love you. I hate you. How could you do this to me..._

He stared numbly at the blood running down his hands as a result of his sharp nails. He breathed in heavily.

__

Not the end. Not the end. Not the end...


	9. Chapter 8

After she left, Buffy took a walk. A long walk, winding through the campsites and trees until the light from the fires was beginning to fade. She was half-hoping that a vampire would attack her. Thought to what end, she wasn't sure.

Losing Angel all over again made her want to die. But at least he was still alive. And she knew that if she stayed near him, he wouldn't be for much longer. 

She'd thought that walking away would be easier than being left. Otherwise, why would so many people do it? But instead, it was like that old trick with the loose tooth. You know, where you tie a string to it and to a doorknob, and then slam the door shut. Only it was with her heart, and instead of the door slamming shut quickly, it was moving slowly. Painfully. She could almost hear the popping sounds as her heart was ripped from it's mooring in her chest. 

To sum it up, being the one to do the leaving was in no way easier than being the one abandoned. She hoped Angel was faring better than she was, though she doubted it could be so. He'd had the brooding market cornered long before she'd come along, and if she was correct, he would be kicking it into high gear right about now.

She stayed out for a long time. Perhaps hoping to forget, to distract herself. She didn't want to return to the scathing reality of her lonely life. Funny. She'd thought that her rebirth on the beach would mean the start of something new. A chance to forget her past and become her future. Ironic how history repeats itself.

When she returned, she found people packing up their things. _He did it._ Moving tiredly, she watched them preparing to leave their temporary home. She wondered briefly what he'd said to convince them. What earth-shattering words had moved them to believe. Then she realized that he didn't have to say much. All they would have to do is look into sweet, honest, intelligent eyes, and they would know. She was surprised they weren't begging him to lead them.

She didn't relish the task of returning to the campsite. In fact, she hated it. She didn't think she could bear seeing him again and knowing that she couldn't have him. Knowing that it was her choice didn't make it any easier. As much as she wanted to give in to the temptation to forget the whole thing, she knew she was right. She knew that by being together, she would be killing him. And even as much as she couldn't bear their separation, she couldn't bear his death even more.

But as their pile of blankets and backpacks came into view, she realized that he'd already removed his things. He was gone.

A part of her was crushed, and she understood that as much as she didn't want to see him, in a way, she did. She _wanted_ him to convince her to stay. To sway her to his way of thinking. 

Seeing him gone made her realize that he'd given up on them. And it made her want to cry.

It was strange; for so long, she'd felt nothing. She'd screwed Spike just for the feelings of disgust and revulsion it brought her. The feeling of being in control, of being controlled, combined with waves of unreasonable and forbidden lust, had kept her coming back to him.

And now she was overwhelmed with too much feeling. Too much pain, too much hurt. It threatened to send her senses into overdrive. Which was okay. Because she'd been wrong. Pain wasn't preferable to nothing, at least not this pain. She'd gladly take back her post-resurrection days if it meant ending this. She felt like she was being eaten from the inside out.

Feeling empty, she sat down on their abandoned bedding. Hers, actually. His was gone. But...she lay down and pressed her face against the pillow. It still smelled like him. She closed her eyes, and scrunched herself into a tiny ball. 

She was too tired to cry herself to sleep.

***

The next morning, she woke early. Tears filled her eyes and she began to cry, quiet sobs that set the tone for her day. After a few moments, she pulled herself together. _I can't afford the luxury of a good, early morning cry. I have a colony to lead._

Dragging herself out of bed was chore enough; she didn't eat anything. She remembered the previous day, Angel teaching her how to shore up her campfires so that they didn't catch anything else on fire. She almost started crying again when she realized she was going to have to talk to him today. They were going to have to coordinate their efforts.

Which meant she was going to have to speak to him coherently for more than thirty seconds without having a break-down. She'd never realized it before, but it had been so much easier for her that he'd left soon after breaking up with her.

She dragged her feet as she headed towards the edge of camp. All around her, people looked up from whatever they were doing to fix her with questioning stares. It made her feel as if she were under a microscope, being judged as unfit to lead or even to fight.

She caught sight of him sitting in a pile of blankets with his head in his hands. His back was to her. She could sympathize intensely with the pain that she knew he felt.

"Angel..." she started. His whole body jerked at the sound of her voice. She winced. "Angel. We have to get these people moving. And get to L.A. as fast as we can." He nodded woodenly, and she wished she could see his face.

"I guess we better get started then, huh." He said in a monotone. He started to climb to his feet. Buffy turned away for a moment, silently collecting herself. She would _not_ break down. Not now. Not in front of him. Not when he was so close that her heightened senses could pick up easily the scent of his hair and the sound of his heartbeat.

Maybe she could cry later, when she was alone. And maybe not.

***

The first day, they did little more than set a schedule for travel and define what would become their fighting force. Buffy was convinced that they would need one, and Angel, not willing to argue, agreed.

Things were tensed and stilted between them. Forced. Even Matt noticed the difference, and confronted Buffy about it. Her eyes flashed dangerously and she told him that it was none of his business. After that, he backed off.

Night fell quickly, so quickly that Buffy was surprised to find that the day was over. She'd been sure it was going to be much harder than that. Feel longer. Having something to do made it go faster, she supposed.

The next morning she would have to wake up early. They were going to start moving then. She was going to bring everything that she'd brought with her, since she'd packed light to begin with. But many other people were being forced to leave belongings behind. They only had a few vehicles, and they were going to be used mostly for carrying supplies. The going would be slow, but at least they would be making progress.

That night, she sat by her fire and watched it begin to die down. Crickets chirped in the background and the logs cracked sharply. The night sky was sharply clear, courtesy of the lack of light pollution caused by the recent apocalypse. At least something good had come of this whole thing.

She sat still, letting the fire warm her skin. She hated the pressure she had begun to feel. She wasn't made to be a leader, or a general. She'd proved that with her dismal failure to stop the First. She couldn't do this. She couldn't save these people or give them direction. She couldn't do any of it. Especially not alone.

She felt Matt coming long before he sat down beside her, though he thought he was being stealthy. She wanted to ask him to go away, but couldn't find the heart to do so. After all, he was alone, too. Just like her.

__

Angel. Her mind whispered to her, and she imagined for a moment leaning back into his embrace. She didn't even care if he was human, or if he wasn't. She just wanted him. She wanted him so badly.

"Hey there. Why so glum?" Matt gave her a crooked smile. She didn't look up, or speak. She didn't have the energy to raise up her disgust and put it into words. Her world had fallen down around her ears twice in the past few months, and he was asking her why she was so depressed?

He settled down, making himself comfortable. She wished he wouldn't. He was nice enough, but..._Angel_. "I'm sorry you broke up with your boyfriend," he said insincerely. She knew he was trying to be understanding. She knew it, but somehow he was all wrong. He could never say quite the right thing, never correctly interpret what she was feeling. He just got close enough to make her feel bad.

"Yeah. Me, too." _We're soulmates. Always. Forever. I love him more than you can ever fathom. I would give him everything I had and then more..._ "It just couldn't work."

"I know how that is. I had a girlfriend....before. She died." He became suddenly lock-jawed and silent. Buffy appreciated it, because she was feeling so sorry for herself, she didn't think she could come up with any more sorry to feel, not even for the guy who'd lost his girlfriend recently.

"I'm sorry. It must have been hard for you, to lose someone you loved." _Angel is my everything. I'd die for him. I'd die without him...How can you tell me that you loved someone who's dead and are still standing? That's not love. Not real love..._

"It's okay. Everyone's had to deal with losses. I'm lucky I still have my dad. And you're lucky that Angel's still alive." _Lucky. Is this luck? If so, then why does it feel like pain?_

"I guess I am." They were quiet for a while longer, and all around, they could hear sounds of fires being doused.

"Buffy, I..." Matt began seriously. Buffy wished with all her heart that he would leave. Right then, before he could say anything that would tie them together. "I care about you a lot. I think that this Angel guy's a real jerk if he couldn't hold on to what he had when he had it."

Buffy bristled. Angel and jerk didn't fit in the same sentence right now. And how dare Matt pass judgment on Angel? He didn't even know him. Didn't even know what they'd all been through, and here he was, acting like he knew what he was talking about.

"You know what, Matt, I think I'm gonna go to bed now," she bit out acerbically. She didn't want to waste energy being polite.

Apparently, he got the point, because with a mournful look, he stood and left, his lean form fading away quickly as she poured water on the fire. Darkness surrounded her then, lit only by the twinkling silver light of the stars and moon. She stirred the ashes around in the fire a bit, just to make sure it was out, and then laid down and conked out on her sleeping bag.

***

The next day, they gathered what Buffy had deemed 'their fighting force' together. Mainly it consisted of anyone between seventeen and thirty who could hold a weapon. Angel thought it would be a good idea to collect the fit younger people to make a trained contingent of soldiers. Or at least something that would make the entire group less than entirely helpless. The vampire attacks were continuing, and Buffy knew she couldn't get to them all. And though Angel was a good fighter...he was only human.

Buffy sighed. Up against that roadblock again. Just as she was about to forget it, to forget that he wasn't the same, self-sufficient Angel he'd always been, something like that would come up. Something that reminded her that the closer he got to her, the more danger he'd be in. 

Training consisted mostly of teaching them all how to hold a sword, knife, stake, and dagger, and how to use them to destroy demons and vampires. Buffy and Angel worked at opposite ends of the training ground they'd chosen, because every time their eyes met, a flash of white-hot pain ran through each of them, pulling them briefly from their apathy.

Matt seemed determined to spend as much time with Buffy as possible, much to her dismay. Didn't he realize that she didn't want to speak to him, or see him, or even be reminded of his presence? Apparently not, because he continued to follow her.

She didn't have the heart to tell him to go away, though, because at the moment, he was the only human being actively speaking to her, and she was lonely.

***

That night, she found herself trudging out to where Angel had made camp. They were moving the next day, and Buffy would miss the valley and the protection it gave them.

He was curled up in his blankets. He looked so sad...Just the way his body was all pulled in on itself made her want to hug him. Kiss his tears away gently. But she had to remember that any physical contact between them was now taboo.

"Angel," she called softly. He didn't move. His back was turned to her, his taut muscles visible through the thin shirt. Buffy rubbed her arms and hoped he wasn't cold. "Angel," she said louder. He didn't respond. She knew he wasn't asleep; he was too tense for that.

She waited a second, and then begun to get mad. "ANGEL." No response. She bent down and grabbed his shoulder. It was icy cold.

She turned him over on his back, and the sick feeling in her stomach intensified so much that she had to turn away and throw up.

There was blood, all over the front of his shirt. There were twin puncture marks at the junction of his neck and shoulder.

And he wasn't breathing.


	10. Chapter 9

"No..." she breathed. "ANGEL! WAKE UP!!! GET UP!!" She shook him violently, his head lolling sickly to the side. "ANGEL!"

She put her hands to her head, trying to remember what to do. There was something. She took in a sharp breath when she remembered. Leaning over him, she pinched his nose shut, and breathed into his mouth. "Come on, baby. Breathe with me." She pressed on his heart quickly and sharply. She'd done this before. Cold skin, dead skin, no breath..."Breathe!!"

She forced air into his lungs, probably more than she should have. But she was losing it by now, panicking. "BREATHE, DAMMIT!!" She screamed at him. He didn't move. Didn't breathe. Rage wasn't helping. Her love wasn't helping. Nothing was helping.

He was just...gone.

As soon as she came to this realization, she stopped trying to resuscitate him. She stopped moving. For a while, she stopped breathing, as well. Just let out a breath and...stopped. _Don't need to breathe. Don't need the air. He doesn't get it, I don't get it._

Just...sit. Don't move. Don't think. See that cold weight on your lap? That's Angel. that's his dead body...all that blood is his it's all his, it always comes back to him, doesn't it? can't escape, don't wanna escape, just sit and breathe...when did I start breathing again?

Matt found her cradling his body sometime around noon the next day. He touched her shoulder, and for once, he didn't say anything when she turned to look at him. She had bitten her lip so hard the blood was caked underneath it. 

The contact brought the tears back, and she crushed Angel's body to his chest and sobbed over him, tears falling on his face and his chest. He didn't flinch or move. _Of course not. He's dead, remember? _She cradled his head against her hollow, aching womb and cried some more.

***

An hour later, Matt was still with her. And the tears had stopped. Angel's body...all heat had left it a long time ago. Sometime in the night maybe. But he was still warm where she'd touched him, held him.

"Buffy," Matt finally spoke. "We need to go. What...what do you want to do now?" Buffy looked at him blankly, and then down at Angel.

"Ask him. I don't know."

"We need to go. It's not safe here any longer. Do you...do you want to bring the body with us, or bury him here?" Buffy's eyes went wide with panic at the mention of burying him and she clutched him closer. 

"Bury...bury him? I...I don't know...Here? Maybe...leave him here." Buffy rambled on to herself and Matt let her. He knew what it was like to lose someone dear.

"Okay, Buffy. I'll get some of the guys together, and we can have a nice little ceremony tonight. I don't think we have time to make a coffin, but we can still give him a decent burial." Buffy cried. She reminded Matt most of a lost child, alone and scared and utterly unable to guide herself. "Do you want to get some flowers? And give a eulogy?"

He was being as gentle as he could, but these were things that needed to be taken care of. And after having finally established a hierarchy, one of their leaders was killed, and the other rendered utterly helpless. This was a devastating blow, and he knew he would have to take charge for now. At the moment, Buffy couldn't even bring herself to speak full sentences.

She nodded violently affirmative. "Thank you," she said softly, still hugging Angel's cold corpse to her breast. Matt smiled, glad to finally have been of some help.

"It'll be okay, Buffy. I know it feels like hell, but...the world's still here. You're still alive. And that's something to be grateful for." 

Then he left to go arrange Angel's impromptu funeral.

"No it's not." Buffy whispered to herself, beginning a gentle and familiar rocking motion. "No it's not."

***

Nobody cried at the funeral. Nobody knew Angel that well, and besides that, everyone was all cried out from their recent losses.

And Buffy, Buffy couldn't even feel her body, let alone work up any more tears. She said a few words about how he was a beautiful, wonderful, strong person, and that the world would be that much worse off without him. And then they lowered him into the crude hole they'd dug.

She fought the urge to reach out for him when they started to pile on the dirt. Outwardly, she was stone. Inside, she was screaming. _No...don't take him away from the sun. He loved the sun..loved it so much. He was always so pale...he'd look good in a tan. He always looked good. And now they're burying him, piling dirt on him, and he'll never see the sun again....he'd only just started to live...there's so much we were supposed to do together. We were supposed to have kids and a mini-van and go to the opera together and eat chocolate ice cream in the sunshine at the beach and take picnics to the park and watch our kids grow up and send them to college and cry after they left and retire in southern California and live in a retirement home together. We were supposed to go to Bingo night. We were supposed to die in our sleep, still holding each other. We were supposed to be buried in adjacent plots in the cemetery where our bones would gravitate towards each other._

The soft shuffing sound of the dirt hitting his body. His eyes still open. He was paler than he had ever been. No blood on his clothes, though. Buffy had changed him and cried again at his stiff, cold, and dead body that she had trouble maneuvering into a clean outfit.

Burying him felt like leaving a piece of herself behind. Like losing a limb, and still being consciously aware of the place it used to be, she couldn't seem to leave him. What if he woke up and she wasn't there? What if he woke up and he was scared and had to dig himself out of his own grave? She'd been there.

But now it was over. Their love was undeniably over, cut off by a cruel irony. His life was over. The happiness was over. 

And Buffy knew that soon, the pain would be over, too. The numbness that she was already ushering in would take over completely. It would wash over her and burn her out and she would be left with blissful, wonderful, perfect nothing. She could already feel it, deep in her bones. The depression, or the emptiness that once had her panicking and screwing Spike, was now awakening and rattling it's newly forged chains. Buffy smiled in anticipation.

The hole was filled now. Angel's deep brown eyes were closed and buried six feet under. It was over. People filed past and offered her condolences or hugs. Minor things that she lived through by not caring.

She didn't even realize that the last person was gone until Matt shook her from her trance. "What?"

"Buffy. It's night time. We should...You should really get some rest." She nodded dumbly and started walking towards her camp. Angel's stuff, she remember. She had to get Angel's stuff. No use in letting it all go to waste.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. "Wait." Matt said. "Do you wanna stay in the trailer with me and my dad? I really...I really don't think you should be alone right now. Not when you're so..." Matt couldn't think of a word, really, that described her right now. Earlier he might have said confused, sad, depressed. Now...nothing. She didn't seem to care anymore.

"Okay. Let me get my stuff." Everything she said was completely without emotion. It was what worried Matt the most. She'd always seemed so vibrant, so alive to him. Like she wore hope and life around her in an invisible cloak, something that one couldn't see, but only sense.

It was gone now. Nothing was left but a haggard and dead-eyed young woman who was trudging to grab her sleeping bag so that she wouldn't be left alone to cry in the night.

Matt wished that he could have helped.

***

They left the next day, moving quickly for such a large group. The few cars they had were used to haul stuff, and the only passengers allowed were the little kids. Everyone else walked. They made it out of the valley and into the surrounding forest by nightfall.

Buffy didn't speak more than two words the entire day. And no one asked it of her. Matt took charge for the moment, claiming that Buffy needed some time to regroup before she could be of any help. But she needed more than time.

It took them four weeks to reach L.A. By that time, Matt had resigned himself to leading until Buffy was better, which wasn't looking like it was going to be any day soon. She would sit in her bed for hours, staring straight ahead. Unfocused. Uncoordinated. A nebulous entity that floated around, never going anywhere and never staying still.

Matt hated it. He hated watching her be like this. He hated knowing that she was thinking of Angel's corpse, rotting in the hole they'd dug for him a month ago. And he hated knowing that there was nothing he could do about it. She didn't love him. As far as he could tell, she didn't even like him that much.

But he owed it to her, to himself, and to the memory of his dead girlfriend, soulmate, and general everything, Rebecca to help her. Or at least to try.

***

The Oracles weren't hard to find. In fact, they were so glaringly obvious that Buffy wondered for about thirty seconds if it was a trap. Then she decided that it didn't matter and forged ahead anyways. 

They were holed up in a building that stood tall above the rubble surrounding it. The walls were an unearthly shade of white that wasn't really white. Buffy knew upon seeing it that it was where she had to go. She only hoped that she would get some answers here.

She told Matt to stay behind. She didn't think she could do this with someone else present. For she already knew what was going to happen here. She would be told that her duty hadn't ended, that she was expected to continue on indefinitely as the savior of the world. And that she was now supposed to do it alone. They would guilt trip her until she fell flat on her face with her responsibilities pressing her into the ground with their weight.

__

The Slayer is always alone...

So stupid to think that the PTB might throw her a bone. So dumb to think that they'd let her have just this one little thing, just this one, tiny, perfect thing. Hell, even if they'd told her that she and Angel couldn't be together, she'd still have him. She would still feel him, instead of this aching, devouring cold freeze.

But then again, she didn't know why she'd even suspected that she'd get that. After all, the Powers hadn't even given her the satisfaction of a final death. Couldn't they have Chosen another girl? Another leader of the world? Someone else, someone young and strong and willing and able?

She felt the apathy that she'd maintained for the past month dissipate in a red haze. Rage colored her vision and she faintly realized that she was digging into her palms so hard that she was drawing blood. She didn't care. They said they'd resurrected the Oracles. Well, she hoped for their sake that they could do it again, because if they told her what she knew they surely must, she'd kill them.

She kicked the doors open, shattering the glass in them into a million pieces. They crunched under her feet like gravel as she stormed into the lobby of the building.

Abandoned. She wasn't deterred though, especially when she saw the stairway leading upwards. 

At the top of the stairs, she stopped. There they were. There were three of them this time. Angel had said there'd only be two. They glowed, and their shimmery opalescent skin rippled with every movement. Beautiful.

Buffy's hands relaxed momentarily in awe, and her blood dripped onto the floor. They were so beautiful. Two men and a woman, they seemed to be triplets. They wore white silken robes and crowns of laurel on their heads. Like the Roman gods, Buffy thought briefly.

Angel's face flashed through her mind. His kind eyes and hopeful look when he gave her a poetry book for her eighteenth birthday. She missed him.

White-hot loathing ripped through her for a second time, catching her every muscle on fire and throwing a mist of red over her vision. These beautiful creatures dressed up like gods had had a hand in stealing him from her.

Without pause, she walked up to the male in the middle and backhanded him across the face. There was a resounding and satisfying crack of skin on skin and his head snapped to the side, where it stayed. A bit of her own blood remained behind on his face. Neither of the other Oracles seemed the slightest bit surprised.

"We knew you would come." The all said in unison, even the male Buffy had slapped. He turned back to face her and she could see that his eyes seemed to be made of chips of midnight, icy and black.

"Good for you," she quipped. She was finally beginning to feel some of her old self coming back. "Now, did you have anything else you wanted to share?"

"Your duty," The first started.

"Is almost over." The second stated. Buffy's muscles relaxed a fraction of an inch, but though she wanted to believe this with all her heart, the cynical side of her rebelled. Not yet. She couldn't believe without proof. Without finding the loophole and understanding it first. The ruin that dashing her hopes again would bring would be abysmal.

"Your child,"

"Shall carry,"

"Your burden." Child? Buffy froze. One of her hands came up to her belly. Wonder crossed her face. She didn't know whether or not to believe it, but she had been feeling bloated and slow lately. She'd attributed that to Angel's death. A child. A baby with Angel. Something of him would remain with her. There was a slight swelling at her belly, and she felt it with wonder. She'd made that with him.

But then she grew angry again, when she realized that she would never see him again.

"What about Angel?!?" she shouted. "What about him? You gave him life and took it away in an instant. You took _everything_ from him! And you took him from me!!" Buffy refused to break down in tears, instead riding her wave of righteous anger and undeniable pain. The end of her job as slayer was coming. But what worth was it without him? 

"Your mate," the first one said.

"Is not dead." Said another.

"He is," started the third.

"No longer living,"

"Either." Buffy was beginning to be irritated with their mode of speech when she registered what they were saying. Angel wasn't dead. But he wasn't living. Which meant....

"Oh, god. Angelus is back?"

"No." One of the three answered. Buffy had given up trying to tell them apart.

"You mean he still has his soul? He's still my Angel? How is that possible?"

"You are,"

"Soul mates,"

"His soul,"  


"Is bound to yours."

"Where is he, though? Oh god, he must be so lost. Alone. He had to dig his way up out of that grave, and he was all alone. I wasn't there. I _left _him!" She wailed, the tears she'd held off for so long flowing hot and fast down her face.

"He is coming."


	11. Chapter 10

Angel woke to a familiar burning hunger. He knew better than to open his eyes, for he could feel dirt pressing down all around. As realization set in, he began to panic. He had to quash his first instinct, which was to take a breath. He didn't need to do that anymore, he realized.

His hands balled into fists, and with great effort, he brought them upwards, using his fingers to dig and shovel dirt aside. Familiar sensations, though hundreds of years old. Using all of his muscles, he tore his way upwards, through the moist earth and into the cool air beyond.

It was nighttime, and though the hunger made him unconscious of all but the need to feed, he knew somewhere that he would never see anything but the night again.

Instincts kicked in and he scented the air. There was the scent of people, but it was old, very old. No use hunting them. But a doe and her fawn had passed through maybe an hour ago, and though they were not his choice prey, they would do as long as they had hot, salty blood running through their veins. Liquid life. The beast within him howled out for blood, and he listened to it, taking off on the tracks of the deer.

The doe would have been much faster than him, had she not had her fawn to think of. As it was, Angel was hard-pressed to catch up. Fortunately, because of his considerable hunting skills, the deer did not know it was being tracked, and stopped often to graze. It was at one such moment that Angel overtook it.

It stood in a small patch of grass, its head lowered with its fawn by its side. Angel climbed up a tree, his supernatural muscles having no trouble doing it with speed and stealth. But nevertheless, the doe sensed him, and her head lifted.

Angel took hold of his opportunity and dropped down on her from above. Doing his work quickly, he snapped her neck and drank from the artery. Warm life gushed into his mouth and he took all that the doe had to offer with greed.

Only when his hunger was sated and the deer drained did he look up, his face covered with gore.

He shifted back to his human countenance, and awareness slowly returned. He took his time wiping the blood from his face with his shirt. He was thinking. Why did he still have his soul? He knew that he'd died and awoken as a vamp, therefore, why hadn't Angelus made an appearance? There was no curse this time, nothing tangible to tether his soul to his body. Nothing at all.

He looked around, mildly curious. He had a pretty good idea where he was, but that wasn't the problem. The problem was finding out where everyone _else_ had gone. He remembered the scent he'd gotten before, the scent of humans. 

Casting about, he found his own tracks, and followed them back to where he'd come from. He stood over his empty grave and trembled. No one should have to dig their way out of their own burial place.

He turned away from the disturbing sight and scented the air again. It was faint, but still there. If he hurried, he could catch up before the scent got too old to track.

He loped onwards, thankful at the moment not to be human, and knew that the only thing that would slow him was daylight.

***

Buffy still stood in council with the Oracles. They'd turned away, as if expecting her to be done. But she wasn't. She still had one question left.

"What about my friends? Are they...okay? Are they in Heaven?" A foolish question, she knew, and not one she was sure she wanted the answer to. But something that had to be asked nonetheless.

"No." They answered in unison. Buffy didn't know exactly what she'd expected, but she wasn't as surprised as she might have been. Too many surprises had been dropped today. 

She groaned softly. Her peace of mind shot to hell, she left without a further word, cursing herself for asking such a stupid, stupid question.

Previously empty dreams were filled with images of Willow burning in hell that night.

***

Angel was gaining fast. The scent of the others grew stronger every day, and one day, late at night, he fancied he could detect Buffy's own distinct odor among the throngs of others.

At this point, it was unnecessary to even track by smell. There were tire tracks all over the place, and they'd moved into the forest. Such a large group could hardly move without devastating the trees around it.

For once in his life, Angel tried to avoid thinking and brooding. He concentrated only on speed. He didn't want to think about what he'd had and lost. And for once he didn't feel the masochistic need to torture himself with it. If that made him selfish and uncaring, then so be it, because he needed to function, and the only way he could do that was by acting on autopilot.

Occasionally, Buffy's sweet face would pop into his face and make him smile. She gave him the strength to continue, and he was sometimes able to go two or three days before he had to stop and feed.

He climbed up a hill, and stopped when he reached the crest. L.A. He was home.

***

Buffy shivered and placed a hand over her belly. The growing child inside her had not yet bloated her belly, but she thought she could feel a difference. 

Her eyes were drawn up to the horizon, back the way they'd come, and she thought she felt him. Just for a moment.

He was close.

She stood up and paced the length of her room. A series of apartment buildings had been found abandoned and intact a few blocks away from the Oracles' building. That was where the refugees were staying. All of them.

Buffy was grateful to have a warm bed again, and access to hair brushes, toothpaste, and mirrors. Though the hot water, electricity, and cable had gone out long ago. There was, after all, no one to man the factories, power plants, or TV stations.

__

We'll have to remedy that situation as soon as possible, Buffy thought idly, wishing for a hot running bath. 

Matt had insisted on staying in the room next to hers, still worried for her mental health. He'd seen a great improvement in her recently, though he didn't know why. She hadn't shared what she'd learned from the Oracles with anyone yet. Though the pregnancy and her love's return were great joys, the burden of her friends' incarceration in hell wore heavily upon her soul. She didn't know how to explain what she was feeling, so for the time being, she cordoned off that thought train and let it lie. 

She sat down on her bed and picked up the book she'd been reading. Candles burned all around the room, providing light to read by, and extra warmth in the cold winter months.

Rifling through 'The Big Book of Baby Names', she wondered whether her child would be a boy or a girl. Either would be wonderful. She imagined a little girl with Angel's chocolate eyes and dark brown hair, and smiled. It wouldn't be long now. 

Absently stroking her belly, she sighed. She'd missed him so much. She'd nearly died when she thought he had. Even now, the numbness still clung to her, and her cynical side, the one that protected her against false hope, clamored that it was all a trick, a trick to make her do their bidding, and that once again she was a pawn and Angel was still rotting in a makeshift grave with no marker.

She heard a soft sound outside her door. "Matt?" she called, not sure she wanted to be disturbed by him at the moment. There was no answer. But a familiar tingling started up at the base of her spine, and she shivered. Could it be?

She got up and walked slowly to the door. Waited a moment for a knock. Then, when none came, she undid the deadbolt and threw the door open. She threw herself into his arms without skipping a beat.

"Angel," she said in that breathy way of hers that always made him giddy with love. Giddy on Angel wasn't much, but it was a change from his usual broody behavior. He returned her embrace with equal fervor and enthusiasm.

"I missed you."

Buffy broke down crying. Worried, Angel clutched her close and held her as sobs wracked her body. "Are you okay, Buffy?" He asked, helping her to the bed. She sat down and began to get herself under control. Every so often her breath caught in a hitching hiccup, but she began to breathe normally again.

"Yeah. Sorry, I just...Hormones, I guess." Angel nodded, but still looked confused. She elaborated. "Angel. I'm pregnant."

"What?"

"I said I'm pregnant."

"What?"

"Okay, Angel, I know you heard me that time. I. Am. Pregnant. With. Your. Child. Actually, I've been thinking, and I believe that's the reason that the Powers made you human. So we could have a child. And the Oracles told me..." Buffy stopped, not willing to open that can of worms just yet.

"Let's just sleep. We can talk about it tomorrow." Angel said nothing, merely grabbed another blanket off the chair and started to set it on the floor. "Angel? What are you doing?"  


He sighed. "Curse, remember? You may want to sleep now, but what about in the morning? I don't know if I can...if I could control myself."

"Oh. Well, that's something easily taken care of. The Oracles told me that the curse is no longer in effect. Didn't you notice the fact that you already had yours when you woke up?" Speaking of it reminded her, and she went to the window to draw the heavy curtains. "For the morning," she explained.

Angel didn't seem to notice. Instead, he stared at the ground and looked thoughtful. "Angel. Angel. Hello? Angel!" Buffy said, beginning to get exasperated.

"How?" He asked.

"They said your soul is tied to mine. Had something to do with being soul mates or something. Can I sleep now? I promise I'll tell everything in the morning." 

Angel looked somewhat contrite, and sat down on the bed beside her, drawing her into his arms. They lay back on the coverlet and Angel stayed awake long after Buffy had drifted off, watching her sleep.


	12. Chapter 11

Buffy woke slowly, aware of the weight pressed against her back. Angel. _Ahh_, she thought, pressing back into his firm body. _I could get used to waking up like this_. 

She didn't want to move, but a rising nausea drove her to her feet, and from there to the toilet. When she was done, she sat back and wiped her mouth. As much as she hated this morning sickness, it gave her proof that there was indeed another life growing inside of her. 

Angel, woken up by the sounds of her sickness, got up quickly. It wasn't in his nature to be up so early in the day, but he could hardly go back to sleep now. He crept across the room, careful to avoid the bars of sunlight that the curtains let fall across the floor. 

He knelt down behind Buffy, who was still sitting on the floor. Rubbing her back in soothing circles, he said, "Buffy. We're going to have a baby."

She turned to look at him. "Well, duh." He smiled at her in awe. And then he leaned down and pressed his ear to her stomach. "Angel, you won't be able to hear the heart yet."

"I know," he said, but left his head in her lap and wrapped his arms loosely around her waist. 

"You're gonna make a wonderful father, you know." She said softly, stroking his hair. He said nothing. She, of course, already knew what he was thinking about. He was thinking about Connor, and how he'd let him go, how he hadn't gotten a chance to raise him, and how in the end, it hadn't mattered, because Connor was dead now.

"Buffy," Angel said, "Maybe you shouldn't have this baby." 

Buffy stopped her cooing and stroking, and stared at him. "What?"

"I said, maybe you shouldn't have this baby. Childbirth is dangerous, Buffy. You could die. And as much as I want a son or daughter, I don't want to lose you because of it. You haven't even lived yet."

"Angel, just because Darla had to kill herself to give birth doesn't mean I'm going to have the same experience." Buffy said, hitting right on the root of the problem. She was beginning to be irritated with his overprotective attitude. It wasn't like she hadn't been the Slayer for the past eight years. Angel winced.

Buffy couldn't quite feel sorry for him, though. He wanted her to _get rid of her child_ because there was the _possibility_ that she might not make it.

"But Buffy, women die in childbirth all the time. Just because you're the Slayer doesn't mean it couldn't happen to you! Please, just _think_!" 

"What are you saying, Angel?" Buffy asked, dangerously quiet. "You think that I'm not aware of the danger? Am I too _immature_, perhaps? Because if that's the reason, then maybe you shouldn't be _sleeping with me_!!" Buffy stood up and walked out of the bathroom in disgust.

"You know that's not true," Angel said, his hurt-puppy dog face coming into action. But Buffy wasn't there to see it.

He followed her out into the main bedroom. But she was nowhere to be seen. Her scent still lingered in the room, fresh and heavy with hormones. He knew she was only so angry because of unbalanced hormones. But he doubted that telling her that would make things any better. He could have followed her easily, but at that point, he knew that he could only make things worse.

And if there was one thing he'd learned in two hundred and forty years of living, it was patience.

***

He sat alone on the bed for a long while, waiting for her to come back. When it was apparent that she wasn't going to, at least not for a long time, he decided to get up and go see what he could find out about their situation.

The first person he ran into out in the hallway was Matt. He growled involuntarily when he saw him, and the growl became a snarl when he smelled Buffy all over him. He grabbed Matt by the shirt and threw him up against the wall.

"Where is she? What's going on? Why--" here he sniffed the air obviously, "do you smell like her?"

Matt smirked. "All very good questions. But I'm not sharing the answers. Now if you'll kindly let me down from here."

Angel snarled and slammed him back against the wall. There was a sharp snap as his head connected with the wall, and Matt gave a little moan. But the grin stayed on his face and he said, "Well, the reason I smell like her might be because we--ah, but you probably don't want to hear about that." Angel slammed him against the wall again. Rage filled his sight, and a small part of him wondered how things had spun out of control so very, very quickly. Matt grinned. "Oh, alright, we screwed. Man, she's _damn_ good in the sack. But then, you already know that, don't you? I'll tell you though, she was much easier to get to when you were human."

Angel roared in outright rage and hurt. He knew he shouldn't believe it. He knew that Buffy would _never_... But the rational part of him was ruled out by pure animal instinct. He threw Matt against the opposite wall, and the sharp scent of blood filled the air. This _slimeball_ would _dare_ touch Buffy? Or even _insinuate_ that she would have _anything_ to do with him?

Matt moaned in earnest this time and his eyes rolled up in his head. And that's when Angel went flying down the hall and landed hard on his butt. Buffy stood next to Matt's slumped form, face flushed and nostrils dilated with rage. "HOW _DARE_ YOU?!?" 

Angel blinked his golden eyes. She'd never been this mad at him, in all the time that he'd known her. Another sharp burst of blood scent came on, only this was more powerful blood. Slayer blood. Buffy's fists were clenched so hard they were dripping blood.

It was at that point that Angel thought it prudent to back away. He couldn't bear to have her so angry at him, and he could feel his heart breaking. But another, more horrifying prospect emerged. What if she actually, physically attacked him? He knew that he would just lie there and take it, but he also knew that the guilt of it would kill her once she calmed down. He wanted desperately to make things right, but he couldn't risk making them worse. He stood up and backed down the hallway, never turning his back on her. 

"Buffy, I'm sorry," he said softly, as if speaking to a dangerous animal. Buffy didn't speak, just shot him a murderous glare and hefted Matt's unconscious form onto her shoulders. Angel bit his lip to keep from saying anything about straining herself or hurting the baby.

She left him standing alone in the hall.

***

Buffy didn't realize she was bleeding until she noticed the crimson spots staining Matt's shirt. 

"Damn it!" Upon closer inspection, she could pick out the four half-crescents of her nails on each hand. She sighed. They were already beginning to heal.

She sat with Matt's unconscious form on his bed. He really hadn't turned out to be so bad. A bit prickly perhaps, but she'd dealt with worse. A flash of white-blonde hair and black leather shot into her brain unbidden. _Spike_. The word a whisper in her brain that made her shiver. /_I hurt the girl. I'm a bad man./_

Bad memories chased her back into the present, and she steadfastly ignored the voices in the back of her head. /_It's alright. I forgive you, Spike._/ Had she ever said that? Should she have? _Did_ she forgive him?

__

Closure, dammit! She punched the wall, and her bleeding fist was ripped open again. She grunted with the pain. Spike was dead. But Angel wasn't.

She wasn't sure she even wanted to _think_ about Angel. He'd...god, he'd gone all psycho jealous on her again. He'd hurt an innocent person because he'd helped her, and because he'd been near her. He was out of control. No, he was _too_ much in control. He was trying to dictate her life and anyone he didn't approve of would get hurt. It just infuriated her. It was against everything she was. She was not an item, or a weakling, or a possession. Angel had no _right_.

She stood up and went into the bathroom to wrap her bleeding hand. She didn't suppose Matt would be too happy to wake up covered in her blood. 

When she looked in the mirror, she didn't like what she saw. She didn't have that healthy, radiant look that most pregnant women got. She looked stressed out and tired. She looked away and placed a hand on her stomach. She wasn't showing yet, but she wondered exactly how far along she was. A month, at least.

She wondered idly if there were any doctors among the refugees. She should probably stop slaying, or doing any kind of fighting or strenuous exercise. More than ever she was aware of her mortality and the possibility of injury. And what should she do about prenatal care? Or nutrition? Or child care? She didn't know any of these things. Come to think of it, she didn't know much of anything about babies. What was she going to do?

She sat down heavily on the bed, and that was when she realized that Matt was awake. He blinked slowly and smiled at her. "You look like hell," he said. 

She didn't look at him. "What am I going to do?" Her voice was high and panicky, and she stared blankly into space.

"About what?"

"My baby! What am I going to do? I don't know anything about babies! How am I going to give birth? How am I going to take care of the baby after I have it? What if it gets sick? What if I lose it?"

"You're pregnant!?" Buffy slowed her flow of words when she remembered that Matt hadn't known.

"Um, yeah."

"How'd you let that happen? It's that creep Angel's, isn't it? Oh my god, what are you going to do?" Buffy, instead of hurting her hand again, punched the pillow.

"One; you should know how it happens; you had a girlfriend, right? Two; Angel is by no definition a creep. He's been through a lot of shit lately and besides, you don't even know him. And three; that's what I was asking YOU!"

Matt looked a bit taken aback. "Well, alright then. I think we can figure this out. I'm gonna go see if my dad knows anyone who can help. A doctor or a nurse or something. There are like, three hundred people here; one of them's _got_ to have some sort of medical training. While I'm gone you just stay here. And _don't_ let Angel in, please."

Buffy bristled at his orders. What did he mean by 'we'? The last time she'd checked, the only 'we' involved was her and Angel. But she also couldn't help but be secretly relieved. Someone was taking charge of the situation, and for once, it wasn't her. She forgot her anger for a moment and wished that it was Angel taking care of her and treating her like this. She dismissed the thought. Even if she was ready to forgive him, Angel was probably pretty pissed at her right about now.

Okay, so maybe he hadn't been that harsh. Maybe she was overreacting. He'd meant well. And she really didn't know what was going on when she'd gotten there. She'd just assumed...

Angel's hurt and scared eyes flashed into her mind. Panic gripped her and her eyes widened. She stood up from the bed and walked briskly out the door. She had to find him before it was too late.


	13. Chapter 12

A/N: I would just like to say thank you for all of you who reviewed, but especially to whoever nominated this fic over at Shattered Frames. If you want to vote for me, go here: . I'm up for Best AU and Best B/A. 

Once again, a big thank you to all of you!

~~~

Angel walked the halls of the hotel, unseeing and unthinking, only barely aware enough to avoid the random patches of sunlight. He missed Buffy. He wondered if she was okay. It was strange; he'd gone for so long without her, and without thinking about her very often, but now that he had her back again, he couldn't stand being apart from her. She was his everything; he didn't know how he'd survived without her.

Though he imagined she was pretty mad at him right now. He knew what it must have looked like to her; him attacking her only friend for no apparent reason. He wished she knew how crazy he got when her safety and wellbeing was in question. 

And then he saw her. She stood at the end of the hallway ahead of him. Between him and her were squares of light streaming in through the windows. He couldn't get to her without burning, and the irony didn't escape him.

Buffy's lower lip trembled and she walked slowly through the light and toward him. Angel's throat seized up. She was beautiful. His hand came up and she took it into her own. Her warmth heated him from the inside, and when she kissed him, he knew she'd forgiven him. 

"Angel, why did you do that? Why'd you attack him? I mean, I thought...but then I realized I wasn't being fair to you. What happened?"

Angel took a deep breath, and looked down at the floor. "His scent. He smelled like you. And he said..." Angel looked up. "He said that he'd been sleeping with you."

She snorted. "Well, that explains a lot." She ran a hand through her hair. "Well, but _what_ am I going to do about him? I mean, I can't exactly beat the crap out of him like I want to." She looked into Angel's eyes, and clasped his hand to her heart. "Angel, he was a really good friend when I thought you were...when I thought you were dead. He helped me to cope."

Angel nodded and hugged her small body to his chest. He wished this hadn't happened. She didn't deserve any more pain. 

She pulled back to look up at him. "You know I wasn't, right?"

"Wasn't what?"

"Sleeping with him."

"I know," Angel said, and kissed her on the top of her head. She relaxed back into him, relieved to finally be able to rest. She knew she could trust Angel to take care of things. To take care of her. 

"Let's go back to our room. You must be hungry."

She nodded in tired consent and they held hands on the way back to the room.

***

"I didn't know what to get," Angel said, balancing several trays of food. "So I got it all." 

Buffy stifled a smile. He was just so _cute_.

He set the plates down on the bed in front of her and went to sit in the chair in the corner. "Aren't you going to join me?" She asked. "There's no way I can eat all of this by myself."

Angel curled his lips into a sardonic smile. "Can't taste anything."

"Oh," she said, somewhat deflated. But then she caught sight of the bacon and cheese omelet and her spirits rose again.

She had just finished eating when a sharp rapping came at the door. Angel growled softly, but it was Buffy who moved to answer. She had a feeling she already knew who it was. And the last thing she needed was another testosterone-fueled fight between him and Angel.

"Hey, Matt." She said, opening the door. She tried to keep nonchalant, not wanting to get all crazy like she had before. Damn hormones. 

"Buffy. Why'd you...oh," he said, catching sight of Angel in the background. The vampire still had not moved, no doubt restraining himself from hurting Matt again. The dislike between the two was palpable. "I found a doctor for you, Buffy. Actually, she's a midwife. Her name's Millicent, and she's on the first floor, in room A15. She said you should come down there today or tomorrow, and she'd check you out." The whole time he was speaking, Matt was fidgeting. It made Buffy uncomfortable as well, and all the more eager to get him out of there.

"Thanks, Matt." She ran a hand through her hair. "Listen, I'm really tired. I think I'm gonna take a nap. Thanks again."

And without worrying about being rude, she closed the door in his face. 

Angel stood and came to her. He took her hands in his own and said, "Buffy, you really need to get rid of that guy. He's a definite creep, and I don't want you to get hurt any further by associating with him." He was being heartbreakingly earnest, and Buffy wished she could just listen to him and do what he said.

But she couldn't. She needed Matt. He was her connection to the refugees. He was one of them. His father was friends with many of them. She couldn't just 'get rid' of him, like it or not. And though she'd have loved to confront him about his piggish pretensions, she couldn't afford to have that friction in their friendship. Or, more accurately, she couldn't afford to piss him off.

She sighed and wished it wasn't all so damn complicated.

She sat down on the bed. Angel stood up and came to sit next to her. "You know I can't do that, Angel. So please, stop asking. You're tempting me." She finished with a smile to try and lighten the atmosphere.

Angel grunted, which she supposed could be taken as a yes. "Now, I have something else to ask you: what are you trying to do to me? All this food...I'm gonna be so fat by the end of this!"

"That's kind of the point. Have you never seen a pregnant woman?"

Buffy stuck her tongue out at him and started in on her scrambled eggs.

***

"Buffy," Angel started as she was halfway through her hash browns, "I think we need to go see the Oracles."

"But why, Angel? I've already been. I don't think they've got anything new to tell us. And if they do, well," she snorted softly, "I'm not sure I want to hear it."

"Well, then what do we do now?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. It does seem like we should be doing something else. Something important."

"Maybe we're just supposed to wait until the baby comes. They did say that he or she would save all of us, right?"

"Not exactly. They said he or she would carry my burden. Whatever that means. Maybe you're right; I don't feel like I know enough."

"Alright. After you're done with breakfast, then. But we'll need to bring a gift. I don't know why they let you in without one before, but it's likely that we'll need one now."

"How about Matt's head on a platter?" Buffy muttered sarcastically. "And I'm done now, if you want to go. Really." She dropped her fork, laden with sausage, to the plate. 

"Are you sure? You don't want anymore to eat? Do you want to take a nap now?" Angel asked anxiously. 

"No, Angel, I'm fine. I'm pregnant, not crippled, you know."

"I know. I just want to make sure you're alright. You're...more vulnerable now. You _and_ the baby."

She grunted as she tried to get up, and then promptly fell back on the bed. "Yeah, well, if you keep asking annoying questions, you're gonna be the crippled one."

Angel gave a half-smile. Good to see that she hadn't lost her sarcasm. In fact, if anything, her raised hormone levels had boosted it. Lucky him.

"Well? Are you gonna help me up or not?" she whined. Angel extended his arm and masterfully kept the grin off of his face. That was his girl.

***

They ended up bringing an antique-looking vase from the hotel lobby. Buffy said it would look good with the kind of decorating motif they had going over there. All 'reflective and sparkly'. Angel had laughed and scooped it up off the table, tossing all but one of the flowers on the ground and tucking the last one behind her ear.

It was fortunate that they were so close to the Oracles' building because Angel ended up having to run there under a blanket. Buffy winced at the amount of smoke coming off of him. That had to hurt, and it was so sweet that he'd insisted on carrying the vase anyways. If he'd have broken it, though, she'd have been downright pissed. 

Buffy grabbed the vase from Angel and started up the stairs. It had changed a bit from the last time she'd seen it, which was weird in itself. But when she held the vase up to shine it, she realized that she could see Angel's reflection in it. _What the hell?_

"Angel?" She asked, turning around to look at him. He hadn't noticed it yet. She turned and went downstairs, grabbing him by the hand. 

After searching through the desks frantically, she found what she was looking for. A small hand mirror. She picked it up, clicked it open, and showed it to Angel. "Look at this, sweetie."

"What? What is..."He reached out to touch the smoky reflection. While the image wasn't clear, it was most definitely him. And absolutely _not_ the natural order of things.

Buffy snapped the mirror shut and started to put it back, but Angel grabbed her hand. "I want to keep it with me. Just in case."

She shrugged and let him have it. Now she _definitely_ had a bone to pick with the Oracles.


	14. Chapter 13

Upstairs, the door was closed. Buffy knocked loudly, but there was no answer, and the knocks were only soft thuds on the solid door. She growled.

"Buffy, wait." Angel took the vase and placed it in front of the door. He stood, blankly trying to recall the procedure. What was he to do now? 

But while he tried to remember, the vase incinerated itself and the door in front of them opened. Buffy snorted. "Well, _that_ was easy."

Angel glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and stepped forward into the light. He could only assume that she would follow.

When the white light faded from his eyes, he was left staring at the three shimmering figures in white standing before him. Otherworldly blue eyes focused on him, and inwardly he cringed. 

Outwardly, he stepped forward and asked, "Where are our friends?"

One of the Oracles laughed. Angel couldn't decide if it was strangely musical or harshly grating. It did, however, put him on edge, and he inched nervously towards Buffy, who was as nonchalant as ever.

"Why does it ask questions with answers it cannot comprehend?" One asked another. They looked back at a thoroughly pissed Buffy and a nervous Angel.

"Listen, you. We are right here and you will _not_ talk about us as if we are not and you will _not_ refer to him as it and you will also _not_ treat us as inferior beings. Now answer the goddamn question." Buffy's face was slightly flushed and her eyes glittered brightly. Angel caught his breath in his throat. She was absolutely radiant.

The female looked down at Buffy. "I like this one. She has fire." Angel smiled slightly. Now they were getting somewhere.

"You still haven't answered the question," he said. "Where are our friends?"

One of the males stepped down from the raised area on which they stood. He stood at eye level with Angel and said, "Your friends are in the alternate dimension known as Yivar."

Buffy blanched. Angel touched her arm gently before turning back to the Oracles. "Why are they there? How did they get there? How can we get them out?"

The female lifted her chin and stared down at him. "They are there because the little red witch among them performed a powerful spell at the end, sucking them all into a place where they would be safe from the fire."

"But you said they were in a hell dimension!" Buffy blurted out.

Angel turned sad, old eyes to her. "They are, Buffy. Not all hells are fiery." Buffy bit back her questions and looked at the wall in shame. Sometimes she could just kick herself for her tactlessness.

But then she remembered Cordelia, and things looked brighter. "Alright," she said in a quiet, subdued voice. "What are we supposed to do now?"

The Oracles looked at one another, and the female spoke again. "Nothing. You are to stay here and raise your child to be a warrior."  
  


Buffy bit back an icy comment, and was about to ask another question when the explosion happened. She was knocked backward, out of the room, though not exactly through the wall. She sat up and looked around. Angel sat beside her, looking somewhat less sprawled and ridiculous. There were no large holes in the wall to indicate their disgraceful expulsion.

Buffy looked at Angel. "What was that?" She said, slightly stunned.

Angel shrugged. "You never expected the Powers That Be to be polite hosts, did you?" 

Buffy grunted as she got to her feet. Come to think of it, she was feeling a bit heavier. She closed her eyes as she was hit by a sudden wave of nausea. Immediately, Angel was by her side, holding her arm and helping her stay upright. "Thanks," she muttered, still looking at the ground and trying not to puke. "Stupid baby." But still, she smiled and rubbed her belly fondly.

***

Buffy's belly was growing ever larger. She could feel the life inside her and she was afraid. She looked around the rubble and ash of what used to be L.A., and she thought of Dawn and Connor. She did not want her child born into this mess of a world. She wanted her to watch 'Looney Tunes' and eat Captain Crunch and ask why the lady in the checkout line was so fat. She did not want to teach her baby to fight, did not want her scavenging food from old restaurant stocks. She wanted her baby born free.

Millicent was not at all what Buffy expected. She was young and slender, with a mess of bright pink hair and a pentacle at her breast.

When Buffy asked her about it, she laughed. "I get that a lot. I'm a witch, and I use some of my power and intuition to help me deliver the babies. For instance, right now, I can tell you the sex of your baby, without any need for a machine."

Buffy politely declined, though the curiosity was killing her. She was impressed. An odd nostalgic pang hit her, and she realized that this witch reminded her of Willow. She held Angel's hand and tried not to think of the grief she still held within.

Their initial meeting had gone well, and Millicent assured Buffy that her pregnancy was perfectly healthy so far, and that she'd like to see her back in a month.

Angel had said very little, merely looming in the corner. Very little about his posture conveyed the nervousness he felt inside. After the hell he'd gone through with Connor, he refused to make any mistakes with this new life. His heart was immensely lightened by the good report, and the hints of a smile crept to his mouth.

The rest of that day passed in a pleasant haze for both of them. Angel drew up a system of government for the colony, and Buffy hung around their room and chatted with him, occasionally darting to the bathroom to revisit her breakfast.

But the pleasant atmosphere, as genuine as it seemed, was a facade, and they both knew it. A shadow clung in each of their minds, born of fear, and they each recognized well the calm before the storm.

Something, somewhere, was brewing.

***

It was in the second trimester that Millicent first detected it. By that time, Buffy had become friends with the girl, who reminded her of nothing so much as a weird melding of Willow and Tara. This girl, she thought, could easily be their daughter.

She was alone with Millicent, having their typical monthly exam. Milli, as she'd taken to calling her, was gently feeling her swollen belly when the baby kicked. It was only a tiny kick, but it sent Milli reeling backwards. Her eyes were wide with shock and fright.

"Oh, come on. As a midwife, I'd have expected you to have felt a baby kick before. It's not _that_ exciting," Buffy joked uneasily. She really, really did not want to know what had made Milli scared like that.

"Didn't you feel it?" she asked, still pale and frightened. "When the baby...when the baby pushed against my hand, I felt it. I _saw_ it. Buffy, it's not...it's not human. I mean it is in body, but there's something wrong inside its soul. It's...well, it's not good. I kind of got the impression of something with yellow eyes when I touched it. Oh, and a kind of intense, violent hatred for everything living. Something is very, very wrong with your baby."

Buffy gripped the edge of the table with one hand, and cradled her belly in the other. "What does this mean?" She asked. "No, wait. Let me rephrase that question. What do I have to disembowel, stake, skewer, slay, behead, kill, or otherwise maim in order to _save my baby_?"

Milli merely closed her eyes and shook her head. "I need time. I need...I need to contact some people, wiser and older than I. I honestly don't know what to tell you."

She stood awkwardly for a moment, and then left, leaving Buffy to stare blankly at the wall, holding herself as if she might shake apart at any moment.

***

Angel was in their rooms, staring at himself in the bathroom mirror. The reflection hadn't gotten any clearer, but it was still their. Inexplicably, undeniably, there. It was driving him crazy. He touched the cool glass, and tried desperately to see some kind of distinctive feature in the mirror. But the smoky blur merely gazed back at him with black holes for eyes, and he soon grew frustrated and stormed out of the bathroom, being sure to close the door behind him, so that the mirror would not mock him any longer.

Buffy was waiting for him on their bed. She'd let her hair down, and she looked rather frazzled. At the same time, she looked so unbearably adorable that Angel scooped her into his arms as he sat down.

"Buffy. What's wrong?"

She pressed her face into his chest, breathing deep. This was the father of her baby. This was Angel. He would make it alright.

"Millicent said...she said there was something wrong with our baby. Something wrong with her soul."

Angel stiffened slightly, but tried his best to hide it from Buffy. Fortunately, she was focused on something else. "I...I don't know what to do, Angel! I'm so scared..."

She clung to him like a limpet, and he cradled her tenderly in his arms. He didn't ask how Buffy knew the baby was a girl, and he didn't ask what else Milli had said. He didn't ask how she knew that Millicent was correct. He didn't even try to process what she'd said. He just held her, and rocked her, back and forth, like _she_ was the baby. He remembered the way she'd soothed him in his first days back from hell, and was not ignorant of the irony.

"We'll find a way, Buffy. We always find a way. Shhh. Don't worry, love. Don't worry. I've got you."

Gradually, Buffy began to calm down. "Gods, we have the shittiest luck, don't we?" 

Angel laughed and buried his face in her hair. "Yeah, but we more than make up for it." He laid back on the bed, with her curled up at his side. Her warm body contrasted sharply against the cold he felt in the rest of him, and he curled around her, eager to warm ever part of himself.

Buffy laughed shakily. "You're like a big dog, you know that?"

Angel kissed the top of her head. "If I'm a dog, then you're an electric blanket. Mmm, so warm..." He buried his face in her neck, and kissed her softly, barely moving his lips. 

"Angel..." she breathed out softly. His lips tickled against the soft skin over her artery, and she felt a thrill of danger and love. 

"Buffy." He relaxed, and let his hand brush against her swollen stomach. A sharp pain hit him between the eyes, and he quickly brought his palm to his forehead. Something wet and sticky began to flow from his nose.

"Angel! You're bleeding!"

Damn it, he thought. I haven't had a regular nosebleed in a century. He sat up and rushed to the bathroom, keeping his head tilted back, and mopping at his nose with some kleenex. Buffy stood in the doorframe and watched.

Angel saw her reflection in the mirror, behind the smoky gray of his own. Her eyes were worried.

Hurt suffused Angel's being. His own child had rejected him. His little girl didn't trust him, didn't trust him with Buffy. 

The psychological torture of it was exquisite. His baby didn't love him, and didn't recognize him as a father. He was a failure already, and the child hadn't even been born yet. 

Buffy turned away guiltily. She knew, with a mother's intuition, what had happened. Just as she knew that her baby girl was asking her to make a choice. Demanding, like all children. She wanted Angel gone. The only thing was, Buffy wasn't sure what would happen if she didn't bend to her child's will.

Irene, she thought. Your name is Irene, and you will be the ruin of me.


	15. Chapter 14

A/N: This chappy is a page longer than usual. Also, it has some pretty violent stuff in it, so consider yourself warned. Oh, and thank you all, very very much, for sticking with this story, even though I've got such a bad update record with it. I'd promise to be better, but I'm not sure I can keep that promise. The only thing I will say is that I'm not ever going to give up on this story until it's finished. No matter how long it takes to update.  
  
*~*~*  
  
The midwife gathered herself, focusing her energy through meditation in an effort to contact the spirit realm. Concern for her friend had driven her to this, though curiosity had also taken hold, now. A morbid curiosity.  
  
The child held an evil that she hadn't encountered before. Not necessarily greater, but stranger. The child's soul was not even in the body, not merely smothered by a demon squatter. No, the soul was gone completely, replaced with a demonic force that was growing as it fed off the Slayer.  
  
Millicent hadn't mentioned that part to Buffy. Partly because the shock had wiped it from her mind, but also partly because while it was inconsequential, it would cause Buffy unneeded distress. But as the pregnancy progressed, the baby drew more and more nutrients from its mother. It grew strong and plump with Slayer blood, and it became gorged with what pieces of her soul it could feed from.  
  
Just the thought of it, living inside her like a devious parasite, hiding in her womb, in her baby, feeding off of her without a care in the world....it made her sick. And she would do what she could to destroy this disgusting menace.  
  
She drew herself up, her breasts jutting out and her shoulders squared. Sliding into the spirit world was like slipping into a warm bathtub. They welcomed her with a gaiety only the dead could have, and her own spirit embraced them. Yes. I'm here.  
  
They brushed around her playfully. They all seemed the same to her, but she knew there was a difference. Just like she knew that the spirit she was waiting for would eventually come, and she would recognize her when she did. In the meantime, she waited. She let her essence be buoyed up by the ethereal wind billowing through, and she was suffused by the warmth of love and peace. This place is a regular hippie-fest, she thought, giggling to herself. The humor rippled through the other spirits, and their tinkling kind of laughter permeated the air.  
  
Just then, her attention was caught. She followed the sense of her discomfort, and found the one, milling about with the others, that was different.  
  
She was easily distinguishable from the others. Where they were a sort of blue color, she was a blaring red. Though it wasn't easily transmutable to colors, Milli liked to think of it in those terms, to simplify the sensations that really made her stand out.  
  
Milli drifted purposefully toward the spirit. Sensing her coming, the undefined blob of spirit began to take on borders and shapes. She became a beautiful woman, as like to herself in life as she could remember. Eyes, nose, mouth, fingers, toes. Everything fully formed and molded into human form. She was glowing a gentle magenta color, and floated in her new form serenely.  
  
"What do you wish to know, kitten?" It was different, the way she spoke. Of course, it really had to be. Her vocal chords had been consumed with natural rot centuries ago. Only her soul lived on.  
  
"A friend is carrying a baby. The child has no human soul. I come seeking a solution." Milli made sure not to let her fear show. The spirit realm was not nearly as welcoming a place as it first seemed. Any sign of hesitation, and the spirits would fall on her, driving her out. And anything more or less than assertive questioning would get her tossed, also. Not to mention never finding the answers to her questions.  
  
The fear she hid was minimal, though. She'd done this many times before, and each time, her fear had diminished. Now, all she allowed herself to see was glowing lights floating around her head. She turned a blind eye to the potential danger of each of them.  
  
"There are many possible solutions to your problem, kitten. The one who could save the child is long dead, though not gone. She would save the child, but first you must find her. If she cannot be found and revived, the child must be killed, and the mother with it, if necessary."  
  
Milli took all of this in carefully. Prophecies were tricky things; the words and phrasing could sometimes be of vital importance. She refused to screw this up because she wasn't listening.  
  
The spirit looked sad. "Hard times have come upon you, kitten. This happening was foretold centuries ago, but I never dreamed it would come to pass so soon. The child is a vessel for a demonic energy of great power. On no condition can that power enter this world. Before you leave, you must promise me that you will not let this evil enter the world."  
  
Milli looked around herself. Buffy's child was her own. She had no right to meddle in her affairs, she could not do anything to prevent what was happening to Buffy's baby girl, and she didn't think she could ever kill a baby. She pictured herself holding a sword that had speared Buffy's middle, and she shuddered. The gouts of blood continued to spray over her hands, even though the mental picture had faded.  
  
"Promise me!" The spirit hissed, bringing Millicent back to the present.  
  
"I promise." She said solemnly. The promise would come first; the means to that end later. When it came down to it, she would do what she had to do. No matter how much she hated it.  
  
***  
  
Buffy slept with her back to Angel. The baby was making rumbles in her stomach, and she knew that Irene was unhappy. She didn't care. Angel was hers, her prize, her lover. Irene couldn't do anything about that. No matter how much she made Buffy hurt.  
  
Angel felt her tension. But every time he touched her, it brought them both pain. As much as it hurt not to touch, he couldn't bring that on Buffy.  
  
There was so much wrong now. What had started as a joyous thing was slowly mutating into a terror. The baby was taking over, as insane as it sounded. It already could influence Buffy's body. He said nothing about the likelihood of it influencing her mind, too. He himself didn't want to think about that possibility. What would he do if the child took over Buffy's thoughts? He didn't want to have to hurt her, especially in her condition, but neither could he let the baby control her. He'd have to keep her with him, no matter the cost.  
  
His hands itched for the kill. The dark cloud above his head was growing heavier and heavier, and there was nothing he could do to strike back at it. The more he thought about it, the more his anger rose.  
  
Buffy was asleep now. He could tell by her snoring, a recent development brought on by the pregnancy. She wouldn't notice if he left now.  
  
All the same, he leaned in to kiss her forehead. And stopped when the pain came again. His lips were centimeters from her face, and he could not force himself to make contact. Disgusted, he turned on his heel and grabbed his coat and boots. He needed some fresh air. And perhaps some violence, if he could fit it in.  
  
The night was dark, and L.A. was almost as Angel remembered it. The shells of the buildings loomed high above, threatening collapse. Angel rebuilt them in his mind, feeling completely at home in the dark and damp alley ways. The high life had never agreed with him; deep down, he always felt like the streets were where he belonged. It helped that he felt most comfortable here, as well.  
  
If he listened, he could hear the steady drip of water from a drainpipe, the squealing of rats over a meal, even, he imagined, the slow grind of the city's foundation as it slid inexorably toward the sea. He hoped he'd not live to see L.A. fall into the ocean, as scientists all over the world were claiming it would eventually do. He was only two hundred and forty something, and already he felt old. The thought of living on infinitely was greatly depressing.  
  
Tonight, though, he was looking for trouble. Not inviting it in by making noise and being obvious; that was too stupid and tasteless for him. No, he was looking for the kind of trouble he could pick and choose, and then stalk up on and kill. Angelus always had viewed the hunt as the best part of the kill.  
  
Angel caught himself thinking of the taste of human blood, and the smell of fear pheromones, and he mentally backpedaled. He would not go down that road. Not yet. Not tonight.  
  
But demon blood was another story. He picked up the scent of a Skrit demon, and tracked it carefully along the tops of the buildings. The beast was heavy and moving slow, likely fresh from a kill. Angel could only hope it hadn't been human. Of course, either way, he was planning on eviscerating it, but if it had killed a human from his band, it would reflect badly on his leadership qualities.  
  
He shook his head to clear it of the political drama that was fogging it. He eased himself into hunting mode. To him, killing had always been an art, but there was something to be said for Spike's method of 'charge in, ripping and tearing, and hope you don't die.' Just like there was something to be said for throwing paint haphazardly and violently on a canvas. But Angel wasn't in the mood for art tonight.  
  
He trailed the scent like a bloodhound. He didn't even realize he'd gone into game face until he dropped down into a dark alley and realized how much better he could see. He growled softly. He was catching up. And the slight smell of fear meant that the Skrit knew it.  
  
He flipped a manhole cover open with casual strength, and dropped down into the sewer. The Skrit hadn't gone far from here. Angel knew these sewers well; the way the Skrit had gone ended in a dead end. He finally had it cornered.  
  
The long hunt left him tense and feeling more violent than ever. He was growling deep in his throat now, involuntarily. His hands fell into natural fists as he slunk toward the turn in the tunnel. The beast was just beyond, and he could hear the triple heads hissing and clacking. He hadn't brought any weapons. Any, that is, but his teeth.  
  
He swung into the tunnel, revealing himself to the Skrit. It screeched at him, a brazen challenge. He snarled back in answer, a long, drawn out sound that echoed in the tunnels. His canines glinted in the feeble light.  
  
The Skrit charged him. Its heads were lashing back and forth, a mindless motion, but dangerous none the less. It had long, six inch claws that Angel would have to contend with. This made it dangerous, but the small brains in each of the triple heads made it stupid. An unequal match, as far as Angel was concerned, but worth it none the less.  
  
He dodged the charge easily, and spun around to jump to the beast's back. It didn't like this, and roared loudly, shaking its body back and forth angrily. Its single tail whipped around madly, but it wasn't long enough or versatile enough to catch Angel.  
  
Angel wrapped his arms around the middle neck. The thing changed tactics, trying to bend its neck down to bite at him. Angel tightened his arms, and the demon's struggles became more frantic. Angel smiled.  
  
A claw came at him, attempting to swat him from his perch. He relinquished his hold on the neck, and grabbed the claw with one hand. In a swift movement, he crushed the bones with his hand, and then broke a claw out of the pulpy mess. The creature shrieked in a sound that could be heard far above the street. Angel didn't care. With the claw, he slashed a deep trench across the Skrit's chest. Not settling for a surface wound, he cut deeper, through bone and sinew, until he hit bone.  
  
The thing whirled quickly and caught his arm in its leftmost jaws. Angel roared in pain and anger. He did the only logical thing he could do; he twisted and bit it back, at its throat.  
  
The demon blood was sour and unsavory, but he hung in long enough to tear out its throat. It dropped him immediately, and the head flopped down, limp. Angel spit out as much of the foul-tasting blood as he could, and then turned to face the monster again. His arm had bite marks in it, down to the bone. He ignored the pain and the smell of his own blood. A vessel had popped in one of his eyes, and blood stained the intense yellow on his left side. He blinked it away and charged forward.  
  
He moved fast enough that the thing couldn't reach at him with its ungainly two necks, or the single stubby arm it had left. He dug into the broad wound, searching for the talon he'd used to inflict it. Blood gushed out over his arms and torso, but he ignored it, and kept digging until he found the claw. From there, not even bothering to remove his arm from the Skrit's torso, he slashed down, through the belly, spilling intestines all over himself and the floor. The thing's eyes rolled up into its heads, and it gave a last dying scream, and toppled over backwards. Angel snarled in triumph, holding the bloody claw in his right hand, while his left dripped blood.  
  
Steam rose from the Skrit's entrails. Angel was a mess, but he felt amazing. Acting on instinct, he brought his ripped arm up to his mouth, and lapped at the wound gently. His own blood tasted salty and familiar. Not his first choice of a meal, but it was blood.  
  
He forced himself to stop and realized that he hadn't eaten anything in almost a week. No opportunity had presented itself, and he hadn't been thinking much about his own needs, anyway. But his blood was preciously thin, and he needed something to feed on, and soon. Preferably before the night was out.  
  
He'd gone hungry before, but back then, it was kind of a masochistic self- torture. He ate only enough to keep his brain from shutting down, and the rest of the time, he sat in the gutters and wallowed in the pinching nausea of empty blood vessels and an empty stomach. He'd felt like for each moment he was in pain, he gained another moment of redemption. Of course, now he found it far more efficient to actively reach for redemption, but the old habit was still there. He toyed with just going home and waiting until he couldn't stand the hunger any longer.  
  
But that, of course, was dangerous. No knowing if he would lose control and attack someone. Never Buffy, but someone else, and that would be almost as bad as letting a man be killed on his watch.  
  
He climbed up the ladder to the open streets. The night seemed unchanged, but Angel could track the movement of the stars, and knew he'd spent more than two hours on this kill. He hoped Buffy hadn't noticed his absence.  
  
He had a good sense of direction, and he headed in the general direction of home. Or whatever he wanted to call it. 'Home' was only appropriate as long as Buffy was there.  
  
Other people thought of homes as places. Not Angel. He'd never, in all his life, known what a home was. But the first time he met Buffy, he started to understand that sense of belonging people had always called 'home'. He'd tried it out in his mind, and found that it fit. Buffy was home, and it was as simple as that.  
  
His human sense of reasoning was growing stronger. He shifted back into his human mask, and felt the warm blood still wet on his face. He thought about finding somewhere to clean up, but now that he'd made his kill, he was tired. He thought of the warm, welcoming bed waiting for him, and the person in it, and he just wanted to sleep. Clean up could wait till morning.  
  
Then, a sound came from an empty doorframe to his right. His head snapped around and he growled. Another whimper sounded, and he whipped out his good arm to clutch the humanoid demon by the throat. It squealed loudly, obviously in pain. "Please, please don't hurt me!!"  
  
"You have five seconds to tell me why not," Angel ground out. He was no longer in the mood for violence, and he just wanted to get back to Buffy. But he was curious as to why this demon was skulking around so close to the colony. Whatever the reason, it couldn't be anything good.  
  
"Because I know how to save the child!!" 


	16. Chapter 15

Buffy looked at her reflection in the mirror. She was too thin. Emaciated to a degree, though she'd been eating like a horse. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her hair was stringy. Angel hadn't touched her in almost two days. It didn't sound like that long of a time, but her skin felt coarse to her own hand. Unloved, somehow. She needed to remember what his hands felt like. What his lips felt like when they whispered 'I love you' into her ear. She looked down at her belly, and wanted to hate her baby. She wanted to for all the right reasons, and yet, she could not. Irene was her own. Her flesh and blood and Angel's. She couldn't hate her. Whatever was happening now was her own fault, not her unborn baby's. She would have to deal with it on her own.  
  
Angel was gone. She waited after he left, waited for the clunking of heavy boots and the careful slide of another body into the bed. But it never happened. She didn't worry much; it would do no good. Angel had his own ways, and if he was feeling anything like she was right now, he'd want to be on the hunt. Killing something with her bare hands certainly did sound appealing to Buffy, but her stomach rumbled and reprimanded her in the same sound. She wouldn't...couldn't do anything to hurt Irene.  
  
But her muscles were tense and cramped. She hadn't done anything in the way of exercise in so long...her skin craved the flow of blood through her veins, the way her muscles demanded use. She punched the wall, a clear hole through, exposing the dry wall and the dark crawl space between her wall and the next.  
  
She cracked her knuckles and flexed her arms, but the tingling feeling wasn't gone. Instead, it was just that more intense for having had a taste of excitement. Buffy sighed. Wearily, she grabbed a towel and stuffed it roughly in the hole to prevent drafts. It wasn't pretty, but it would have to do.  
  
She would make a terrible housewife, she thought almost hysterically. She realized she hadn't slept for almost twenty-four hours now. But she couldn't settle down, knowing that Angel was out there, and not in here.  
  
She pushed the curtain aside and stared out into L.A.'s unforgiving night.  
  
***  
  
Angel returned to the hotel, dragging the skinny little demon behind him. The thing squealed and begged pathetically, but he paid it no mind. When it got too annoying, he jerked its arm sharply. The pain caused it to shut up momentarily.  
  
His mind was reeling. So much had happened so quickly. One thing he knew was that he no longer cared about the PtB's grand plan for the survivors of the human species. His only goal at this point was to save his baby. And Buffy.  
  
A picture blossomed in his mind's eye. It was Buffy, her golden radiance flowing outward around her body like a halo. Her green eyes seemed like they were reflecting light from the inside, not taking it in from the out. She loved him. She was beautiful, the most gorgeous thing he'd ever seen in all his life. Not because of her physical beauty. Because she'd had the love and compassion in her heart to reach out to him when no one else would. She believed in him, believed in his soul when even he had doubts. She'd kept him going when he couldn't even really believe that he had a soul. He loved her more than anything he could think of. He loved her more than the breath at his lips and the taste of food and the feel of warm sunshine. He missed her. And he needed to be with her now.  
  
He smacked the demon's head hard against the wall. The whimpering beast finally fell silent, and Angel breathed a silent sigh of relief. Moving quickly, he tied up the demon's spindly hands and legs with a length of twine he found under the main desk in the lobby. He left the wretched demon collapsed in the hallway, and followed the hall to their room. He opened the door.  
  
Buffy was inside. She sat peacefully at the window, her hands in her lap, staring out at the night. The moonlight hit the raised contours of her face and body, highlighting her stunning features in pale silver. She looked almost serene.  
  
"Buffy," Angel whispered in a low growl. She turned her head and jumped slightly. Her hands were already balled into fists before she realized who it was.  
  
"Sorry," she said. "Not used to being snuck up on. To my recollection, you're still the only person who can consistently surprise me. I guess I should really start expecting it."  
  
She rose to her feet and walked over to where he stood. "Did you have any luck with whatever it is you were looking for? Did you get to kill anything?"  
  
"Yes to both questions," he said. Carefully, he tangled his hand in her hair.  
  
"Angel," she whispered, in a tone of warning. Irene had not complained yet, but they weren't actually touching yet, either. "You know what's gonna happen if..."  
  
"I know. And just...let me try something." He touched her cheek with his hand. A hot flash of pain blossomed in his head. He bit his tongue and ignored it. Slowly, the pain began to fade when Irene realized that Angel was determined to do this. It obviously took a substantial amount of power to send out pain like that, and Angel was grateful for it. He looked into Buffy's eyes, and noticed that she was uncomfortable.  
  
"Is she still hurting you?" she asked. She was almost afraid of what the answer would be.  
  
Angel smiled slowly and carefully. "No. She's left me alone." He kissed the top of her head. "I think she knows how much I love you, and that I'm not going to let a little headache deter me from being with you."  
  
Buffy nodded. Her eyes felt suddenly moist and tearful. Her mind added at least for now to his statement. She wiped her nose surreptitiously and tilted her head up to kiss him. He did not disappoint her, and their lips met in sad passion. Denied for so long, it almost seemed as if they'd forgotten how to love simply. Everything they'd ever done had been fated to doom, every move they'd ever made together had been numbered. It was no way to live, and no way to love. And yet, somehow they'd held together, through all those years.  
  
But there was no one here now, no one to tell them that they could or could not, that they should or should not. Buffy threw caution to the wind and let Angel hold her. Finally. They were together, and there was no one else in the room.  
  
Tears leaked from her eyes and she remembered all the bad times. All the horrible times, the times they'd fought, when they'd been apart. There was so much pain in her, pain she'd thought gone. But there it was again. A deep well full of pain, and no bottom in sight.  
  
She let go of her control and let her feel it. How could this happiness they'd found ever last? He kissed her, again and again, his lips finding every inch of pain and kissing it raw, before leaving it to start on another spot. Her neck was sore and the blood rushed close to the surface of her skin. But he didn't bite her. He didn't ravage her like she knew he wanted to.  
  
Her hands kneaded his broad shoulders, and then dropped down to his hips and ass. She loved feeling every inch of him, all the hard, cold muscle that warmed under her touch. She loved that she could do this to him, that his body responded to her like this. It reminded her that she was a real person, and that she had a real effect on the world around her. And him. It made her breath catch when she realized how much influence she had on him. And he, her.  
  
He wrapped her up in muscle-bound arms that felt like an angel's wings, and he took her to bed. When she looked into his eyes, the darkness of his widened pupils drew her in until she was spinning through a pool of onyx. She clutched his shoulders to anchor herself. His skin was soft, and she felt the shoulder blades beneath the surface. She couldn't see it, but she knew there was a tattoo there. He claimed it was a griffin, but she saw it as a bird of some kind. Perhaps a dove.  
  
He nuzzled her neck and face, her breasts and belly, until she could no longer differentiate between his human and demon face. The speed of his movement kept her off-balance, and she felt like the room was spinning. There was a soft, warm, throbbing in her stomach, like Irene was pressing a tiny hand or foot against her organic confines.  
  
Buffy cried out, and the sharp feel of cold air in her lungs reminded her that this was real. A new kind of reality. She thought of her old life, her old world. The way the trees there had seen years and years of life, the way people could trace their ancestry back to Neanderthals. And then she thought of this world. Bright and shiny and new. Fire cleansed the world of its history. This generation, the people who lived, they were like a thousand Adam and Eves. The only ancestry that mattered to them was their tie with God. The only trees here were shoots and saplings, green with youth.  
  
The old world was gone.  
  
She wasn't. And Angel, the oldest thing on the planet, wasn't either. They were here, and they were together. The fire had burned their bridges to the past, and all the emotional baggage they'd dealt with before was gone. Even Angel had sensed it, stopped brooding so much about his past deeds. They were part of the old world, and they were inconsequential now. It was best, she had to admit to herself, that the old world was forgotten completely.  
  
Buffy was warm because Angel's rough hands were bringing her circulation faster and faster. His looming body, which would seem by the laws of logic to be clumsy, moved over her gracefully. His body brought hers to life, which was strange, since it was supposed to be the other way around.  
  
She opened her mouth to breathe, and his mouth covered hers, giving her mouth to mouth in a sense, surrendering the air he had warmed for her in his lungs. The oxygen she ended up breathing was warm and felt like him.  
  
She felt a rumbling in her womb, and she knew that there would be hell to pay for this come morning. But morning was a long way off, and now was too important to think about anything else.  
  
***  
  
Buffy was up first thing in the morning, puking her guts out. Irene kicked her viciously in the stomach. It had turned out that there were limits to her baby's power, but not enough of them. Last night Irene had been willing to let her parents have a little freedom, even if she had not appreciated it. But now, her strength was back up and she was raising hell again.  
  
Angel came in and stroked her back reassuringly. "When you're finished, I have something I need to show you."  
  
She gave him a playfully dirty look, but that was cut short by another upheaval from her belly. Angel took at as a yes, and left.  
  
He had taken further measures to procure the demon almost immediately after his and Buffy's nighttime tryst. To his pleasant surprise, the beast had remained prone and unmoving. Unconscious, as far as he could tell. Though it could just be faking to avoid another blow to the head.  
  
Either way, Angel took maximum precaution to keep it secured. He checked the bonds about its hands and feet, and then dragged it into a vacant hotel room, and locked it in the bathroom, tied to the sink plumbing.  
  
He went now to check on it, having full confidence that not only would it be there, but it would be ready to talk after a long night of cold linoleum and even colder fear. Angel intended to see that before the morning was out, he would know everything this creature knew, and then some.  
  
When he got there, Matt was standing in front of the door. Not quite guarding it, but not hiding the fact that he knew something was in there. As Angel approached, his accusing brown eyes rose to lock Angel's in a stare of hatred and disapproval. Matt wanted to know what was so important in that room, and wanted it badly. Angel felt the cold brass of the key in his pocket, and knew that Matt was just going to have to go on being curious. He bypassed the room in favor of breakfast.  
  
Hunger gnawed at his entrails, and he prowled through the hotel, keeping clear of sunny patches. He didn't know what he was going to do. The starvation was wearing on him, and his wounds weren't healing well. He was getting close to collapse, and he knew it. He might not be able to hold himself until dark, and it didn't look like there were any handy rats hanging around. Absentmindedly, he suckled the wound on his arm, which was covered only with thin blood clots. The hungrier he got, the longer it would take for him to heal.  
  
His own blood did not sate his hunger, but there was no sense in wasting it. Every drop counted at this point. He growled in frustration. There had to be something! He returned to the room where the demon was kept, not bothering to distract Matt, who was still waiting patiently in front of the door. He shoved the protesting man out of the way and unlocked the door. It closed behind him with a satisfactory snick.  
  
The demon was curled up on the bed, in a small ball that resembled the fetal position. Angel had no time for games. He lifted the demon by the folds of skin on the back of its neck. The stretched skin revealed great blue blood vessels pumping away beneath it.  
  
Angel hesitated only a moment.  
  
He bit in at the juncture of neck and shoulder, and the demon squealed something terrible. Angel didn't much care. The blood was thick, and blue, and slightly viscous, but it was good enough for Angel.  
  
It didn't take much to bring him back to his senses. He released the demon and let it flop down on the bed. He wiped his mouth, and licked his fingers. He was still starving, but some modicum of sense had returned to him. The demon had served his immediate need, but as a downside, the creature would be weak for the next few days. The blood loss had knocked the demon into unconsciousness, which was unfortunate, but nothing that couldn't be remedied by a few quick slaps or a bucket of cold water.  
  
Angel left the room to retrieve Buffy. 


	17. Interlude I

A/N: This is for all of you who have been wondering about Willow and the others. And no, I didn't forget them in the scheme of things. This is only the first of several interludes, by the way. I hope to be updating more frequently, though I make no promises. Thanks for sticking with me, and enjoy the chapter!  
  
Willow woke with her back pressed against cold stone. The manacles at her hands clanked as she shifted positions, and she shivered in the cold. She had no clothing to provide protection against the elements, such that they were.  
  
Across from her, Xander was sitting upright, staring at the window on the wall above her. Pale light entered through there, the kind you see during a stormy day. If she could've seen the sun, Willow was relatively certain it would be a pale ball in the sky, shrouded by clouds, and nothing like the warm, friendly sun she loved.  
  
She rolled over, and reached for Dawn. The younger girl was still asleep, but scrunched up uncomfortably in the corner. Willow was stuck deciding which was more important; her own warmth, or Dawn's sleep.  
  
"Dawn," she whispered. "Dawnie. Wake up, sweetie, before we both freeze to death." Dawn stirred, and then her eyes snapped open. They were shockingly blue in the sickly light.  
  
Dawn took quick stock of her surroundings, and edged toward Willow carefully, making sure her back was to Xander, Spike, and Giles. She stayed surprisingly self-aware, despite their continued exposure to each other. They hadn't seen so much as a shred of clothing since they'd gotten here.  
  
Willow had gotten used to it quite quickly. Self-consciousness just didn't seem important in the scheme of things. There was nothing she could do to change it, so why bother worrying?  
  
Dawn, on the other hand, was pretty self-conscious. She was a teenager, and she'd had a major crush on two of the three men in the cell. It made for some uncomfortable situations, but she would have to get used to it. And she would, eventually.  
  
She finally reached Willow, and the two embraced. Dawn was shivering, and Willow wrapped her arms around the girl, trying to keep her as warm as she could.  
  
Anya was in the opposite corner, out like a light. She was sprawled comfortably across a good portion of the floor.  
  
Willow stared up at the patch of sunlight filtered through to the opposite wall. It wouldn't be long now...  
  
Ah, yes. The oak door swung open, and two of the guards entered, unlocked his chains, and dragged Spike away. Presumably to join Angel. Spike still refused to talk about where they took him during the day. Willow, for once, trusted his judgment, and decided that she was better off not knowing.  
  
Breakfast would come soon, now, and then they would begin their day of cruel and unusual torture. Silent tears streaked down Willow's face as she thought of how she'd brought them all to this.  
  
***  
  
The sky had been taken with a red hue, she remembered. Littler flames licked at the horizon, and the fires roared along with the demons which had come pouring from the earth. The air was filled with flurries of black snowflakes. Ash. In some places, the stench was terrible, and she knew that people were burning there. She prayed to the goddess and ran on her way.  
  
There had been no time to gather the girls. She'd screamed as loud as she could, trying to catch their attention, or at least draw the demons from them. But they were Slayers, chosen or not. They fought, and they died, and Willow ran.  
  
She couldn't have saved them, and she repeated that to herself, over and over again. Now she careened wildly toward Buffy's house, desperate to get there in time. A spell had been forming in her mind as she ran, and now she realized that it had been there all along. Ash choked and burned her lungs. Her legs felt like lead, but she ran, as fast as she could.  
  
The door was open when she got there. Terror threatened to make her vomit. A fireball streaked across the sky and plunged into the backyard. She flinched. She thought they'd stopped...  
  
Breathless, she dashed into the gutted house. Something snarling and dark was in the kitchen, munching on a human arm. Viciously, Willow stilled her own breath. It couldn't see her, and she wouldn't let it hear her. That wasn't her fate. Panic was beginning to overtake her, and she quieted it relentlessly. There was no time for fear. She wouldn't die this way. It wasn't her time, and she would. Not. Die. Here. She clenched her fists into balls, and dashed up the stairs.  
  
The bathroom door was locked, and there were fresh claw marks on the wood. That was where they would be, if they were anywhere. She stood in front of the door and rapped on it, hard.  
  
She had to literally bite back a shriek when an axe head appeared in the wood about a foot from her head. It had come from the inside. "Xander!" she cried, terrified. "It's Willow! Let me in!"  
  
Something downstairs heard her. A wet snorting could be heard, and something with scales gliding across hardwood floors. It was coming.  
  
"Please, Xander, please! For the love of Artemis, let me in!!" Something shifted behind the door. She suddenly questioned her assumption that it was Xander in there, or even any of the Scoobies at all. Some of the demons had arm enough to wield an axe. What if she was going out of the frying pan and into the fire?  
  
Something cracked on the lower steps. Willow felt her terror rising. Wouldn't they please, please just let her in? Save me! She felt like screaming.  
  
Without warning, the door swung open, and a pair of hands grabbed her and yanked her inside. The door was shut behind her quickly, and something heavy was shoved in front of it. She hugged Xander gratefully.  
  
But something was bothering her. How had they gotten so much space in here? It was really only a very small bathroom, and yet somehow...  
  
A small, cool blue portal swirled lazily between the toilet and the sink. Dawn was lying in the bath tub, and there was a piece of clear white quartz glowing benevolently beside her. Dawn had her eyes closed, and lay very still, but a sheen of sweat had broken out on her face.  
  
"What's going on?" Willow asked.  
  
Xander crooked an eyebrow. "Well, I think the world's ending. Not sure, though; never lived through a successful apocalypse before."  
  
Willow was too tired to respond to the crack, and her pale face spoke for her. "What's Dawn doing? I mean, what has she done?"  
  
Xander hugged Willow again. "Dawnie remembered something Tara taught her, about herself and how she could use the Key for her own purposes one day, if she needed to. She cut her arms, and bled on the crystal. Said some words, and that portal opened. It seems to be connected to all the Scoobies; Giles just left through it to check the Magic Box and try to find Anya, and Spike is doing a sweep for the rest of the girls."  
  
"They're dead," Willow said. Xander cringed. A stinking, rotting stench came from the hallway. Something slammed into a wall on the other side of the door. Dawn twitched.  
  
"We'd better get Spike back, then," Xander said. He started to go into the portal, but Andrew, who'd been silent up until now, stood to stop him.  
  
"It's okay, Xander, I'll do it."  
  
Xander cocked his head at the odd show of bravery, but said nothing. He stepped aside to let Andrew pass.  
  
Willow sat down on the toilet. Her heart was threatening to hammer its way right out of her chest, and her lungs were heaving with effort. She coughed dryly, and then wiped the blood off her mouth with a tissue. Xander looked at her with pain, but didn't comment.  
  
Willow got up and knelt beside the bathtub. She could now see the grotesque streaks of blood on Dawn's arms. The girl was very pale, and her breathing was frighteningly shallow. Willow brought a hand up to her forehead, and found it unusually cool. She turned Dawn's arms over, checking the thin cuts. The blood had started to clot, but not enough. Rusty brown dried blood had caked on the edges of the bathtub, and there was still some fresh running down the drain. Willow closed her eyes.  
  
The portal was growing noticeably weaker. Willow wondered morbidly whether Dawn would have to die to close it completely. And whether she was dying now.  
  
"Xander, we have to stop this. She's...god, she's weakening. I don't know what will happen if the portal dies. Or if she dies." And we're not safe here, she added mentally. The stench was growing, and there was the sound of snuffling in the hallway.  
  
Willow didn't realize she was beginning to hyperventilate until Xander hugged her in reassurance. Tears streaked her white face. Xander held her hands in his, and they collapsed together on the floor. Dawn's breathing was getting louder, more congested-sounding, and the thing in the hall had not stopped its relentless search.  
  
"Oh goddess, Xander, what are we going to do? It's all come crashing down!" Willow wailed into his shoulder. Xander stroked her back, trying to help her breathe normally again.  
  
He didn't let her know that he was feeling the same way. The sense of impending doom was like a wet blanket on their hopes. They knew it was over, even though their survival instinct kept them fighting. This world was doomed. They'd waiting too long, they'd made too many mistakes, and now they'd come to the end. The apocalypse that got away. The armageddon that finally did end the world.  
  
Willow could not seem to stop her crying. Xander rubbed her shoulders. "It'll be okay, Wills. You'll see. We're gonna beat this thing. We're gonna survive, no matter what. We're the Scoobies. Not even the apocalypse can stop us."  
  
He didn't know where the words came from. They embodied a hope that he didn't seem to have, but even as he said them, his hope was rekindled. He kept talking, trying to bolster his own courage, as well. "You're the most powerful Wicca on the planet. We've got Dawn, who's older than any of us. We've got a two-hundred year old vampire, a Watcher, an ex-demon, a Slayer, and me. We can beat this. We're going to live. How many demons have we killed? We won't be cut down. Not like this. You'll see."  
  
The portal flashed weakly, and Anya, Giles, Andrew, and Spike fell through. Willow sat up, alarmed. "Kennedy! Where's Kennedy?"  
  
Giles sat up and wiped his glasses, looking everywhere but Willow's face. Even Anya was silent, finally choosing silence as the better part of valor. Spike seemed to be the only one who could meet Willow's gaze. "I'm sorry, Red. She's gone."  
  
The blow fell silently and swiftly. Willow covered her mouth with her hand. She sobbed a few times, dry, heaving things that sounded more like an effort to feel than an actual expression. Her face was already wet with tears, but no more came. She felt hollow. Like all her insides had been scooped out to make way for the machine she was becoming. She squared her shoulders, and wiped her face. It was her time to be strong. It was her turn to draw on the other personality that still lived inside her, the strong will of Evil Willow, whose residue still resided in her.  
  
"We have to get out of here. It's not safe. We'll go to L.A., try to catch up with Buffy. That's where all of this started. If we've got any luck at all, we'll be able to find her, figure a way to stop this thing. We've got to try, at the very least."  
  
Everyone looked tired to her eyes. Empty, hopeless. Paler, thinner, less real. These were people who had given up. Xander was rocking Anya back and forth, showering her head with kisses. Who'd have thought that the ex-demon would be the most afraid to die? Giles was staring at the ceiling, his glasses filling up with tears. No doubt thinking about Buffy, his almost- daughter. Spike sat on the toilet, his face set and grim, with the expression of a man about to be sent to the electric chair. Andrew was staring at the wall, his hands clenched in tight fists. He didn't want anyone to see that he was about to cry, but his face looked like it could crumple at any moment. No hope in any of them. Willow wasn't even sure that any of them wanted to live. But she had to try. She owed that to them.  
  
"We have to try!" she exclaimed, repeating herself. "Come on!" she said, starting to get angry. "GET UP! This is not who you are! This is not who WE are! We're the Scoobies. The Slayerettes. The ones who fight the demons and save the world! GET UP!! Get up and FIGHT, dammit!!"  
  
Her face was flushed with blood and her eyes sparked with a mystical force. Black light flickered in and out of them, fighting to be seen. She was completely unaware of how gorgeous she looked, how strong. Xander lifted his head, and Anya paused in her sobs. Giles and Spike looked at her, their faces expressionless. But in them, she saw something dawning. She saw something that looked an awful lot like the will to fight in their eyes.  
  
Andrew, the newest and the most fragile of the Scoobies, was the one who gave her her hope. He looked into her eyes, and she knew that he trusted her. It didn't matter what she'd done or who she'd killed, he trusted her. He believed that she would take care of him, and she swore an oath to herself that she wouldn't let him down. She wouldn't falter on her path a second time.  
  
Invigorated, she opened her mouth to speak again, to rally the troops, but was cut off by the sound of cracking wood. A horrible odor wafted through the door, stronger than ever. Something hit the door. The wood in the frame began to crack, and the towel rack in front of the door rattled.  
  
She didn't have to guide them this time. Through some weird sixth sense that had developed between them years ago, everyone knew that it was time to get the hell out of there. Moreover, a shared glance confirmed their destination. L.A. The city of angels.  
  
Xander carried Anya and went through the portal first, followed by Giles. Spike stopped at the mouth of it, and turned to Willow. "You got the Bit?" he asked. There was a true tenderness in his eyes, and he looked at Dawn with the worry of a concerned father. Willow gave him a faint smile, and nodded. He went through, following the others.  
  
Willow walked to Dawn, the steady pounding on the wood driving her faster. "Medicore," she whispered over Dawn. The skin on her arms began to crawl over her wounds, cutting off the loss of blood and healing her. Dawn twitched again, her lips curling and her brow frowning in an expression of pain. Willow whispered I'm sorry, and then continued with her work. "Libero." Dawn began to lift up out of the bathtub, her hair waving crazily beneath her levitating body. The girl snorted in her sleep.  
  
Willow led her toward the portal, and she floated in quite easily. With her passage through, the portal flickered weakly. It would be a matter of seconds before it closed entirely. Willow took one last look around a house that she instinctively knew that she would never see again.  
  
Just then, the door shattered. Wooden splinters and chunks flew everywhere. Willow threw up her arms to protect her face, but she still felt the burn of the cuts on her cheeks and forehead. The thing had finally broken through.  
  
Cautiously, she lowered her arms and started backing toward the portal. Her eyes were blurred, but as they gradually came into focus, she began to see it.  
  
It was black, made of some nebulous darkness that trembled in and out of being, shifting from shape to shape. Willow had no doubt that it would be solid enough when it attacked her, though. Her breath caught in her throat as she slowly schooled her eyes to trace upward, to where the head was supposed to be. She met its eyes.  
  
Screaming, she fell backwards into the portal.  
  
***  
  
Back in the present, Willow was jostled out of her reverie by the appearance of what their captors called 'food'. The mushy substance turned her stomach. Dawn offered her a weak smile. "It can't be much worse than my peanut-butter banana waffles. And you at least pretended to like those."  
  
"I did like those. And yes, this can be much worse than those. Look, I think those are... Eeh, I don't want to think about it. I'm not hungry now. Maybe I'll eat later."  
  
Dawn shrugged. Willow was lying like a dog, but there wasn't anything she could do about it. The food looked disgusting to her, too, but she couldn't afford to be choosy. Her stomach was rumbling and demanding food. Three nights in a row, now, she'd woken up and felt the odd stretch in her bones and skin. A growth spurt couldn't have chosen the wrong time to come, but nevertheless, she had to feed her growing self.  
  
She sighed and dug in, with an optimism she only partially felt. Things had to look up today. After all, they couldn't get much worse... 


	18. Chapter 16

Buffy hated the way Irene was making her feel. Her breasts were tender and her mouth still tingled with the acid taste of vomit. She felt like a giant, bloated spider, with her belly protruding a significant way out from her body. Her body was not her own, it seemed. She was nearing her time, though, only a month or so left to go. And they had still not solved the riddle of her baby's soul.  
  
Through the fire Into the cold When finally found Composed of pure gold  
  
That was all she had to go on. She'd memorized the lines from the demon's fearful speech. The most important, and the most trivial of riddles. There wasn't enough information! she fumed silently. Oh, she'd tried. She'd gotten help. But no one understood what it meant.  
  
Every night, Angel left her to range across the city, searching out further answers. But to that day, that was the most they'd been able to find. Angel was doing his best, and she couldn't fault him, but...  
  
They'd had to change rooms several times because of the gaping holes she'd punched in the walls. Angel never presumed to tell her to stop, but the corners of his lips would quirk up in sad amusement. He had his ways of relieving the fear. And she had hers.  
  
He was here now, reading to her stomach, because he'd heard that it would imprint the sound of his voice in the baby's mind. Buffy didn't have the heart to tell him that Irene already knew him very well, thank you. But it was the little things, the things like this, that kept her alive.  
  
Every so often, Angel would look up from his reading and smile at her with an insane tenderness and love. He loved the little brat, for all the trouble she'd caused. She could tell. He adored her; couldn't help it, and he wouldn't have wanted to, anyway. He loved feeling her strong little kicks against his hand, when she'd let him. Now, Buffy took his hand in hers, and he squeezed roughly.  
  
He was reading poetry. No paltry picture books for his child; Angel had already exhausted himself searching for books in Latin, Greek, Romanian, Gaelic, and Old English, so that he could teach her the languages of her roots.  
  
He was so very adorable as a father, Buffy thought. Connor would have been very lucky to have him. She stroked his hand thoughtfully. It had been a year now, almost, since they'd all died. She didn't deign to mention it to Angel. She couldn't bear to relive that old pain with him. Not on top of this fresh one. In that way, Irene was like an open wound, red and sore and painful.  
  
And always there. Buffy sometimes woke in the night, panicked from the realization that there was no escaping Irene. She was a part of her, inside her, hell, she could play a drum solo on her ribs for Christ's sake. Having an enemy so close scared her, scared her so bad that she clutched desperately at the sheets and bit her tongue against wanting Angel. She would be glad to have this pregnancy thing over and done with.  
  
It was a shame, too, she thought sadly. This was probably the only time she'd ever be pregnant, and it had to be with a demonic soulless baby. She couldn't even enjoy the pregnant-lady glow, the radiance and the knowledge that she had a life inside her. A beautiful little flower bud, ready to blossom. Instead, she had this. This travesty of a family. Inwardly, she chided herself for such thoughts. Angel was many things, but he was never a travesty of anything.  
  
In repentance for her thoughts, she ran her other hand through Angel's hair. He closed his eyes, and his reading dulled to a murmur for a moment. It was rare that Irene allowed them to touch like this, and so when she did, it was like finding heaven all over again.  
  
Gently but insistently, she shut the book. "I think that's enough of that," she whispered into his ear, embracing him with her arms and legs. He understood, and tenderly lifted her up from the rocking chair, and carried her with supernatural ease to the bed. He laid her down and kissed her on the forehead.  
  
"I think you're right, love. What would you like me to do?" He half-smiled teasingly, and she let a hand trail to his strong shoulders. She played with the hairs on the nape of his neck, stroking softly.  
  
Time slowed down for them as she lay there. He watched the sunlight caress her curves, and illuminate her eyes. Surrounded by all the covers and pillows, her deadly strength was softened. He touched her like she was a dream and he a hopeless dreamer, wishing never to wake.  
  
***  
  
Thunder rolled ominously in the distance. A storm was rolling in from the east, and Angel watched the clouds build. They seemed distant and removed on the horizon, when the sky was sunny and blue here. But a wet wind disproved the theory, and noted with fervor that it would not be long before they were plunged into turmoil. He could smell the rain in the air.  
  
He growled softly and backed into the room, pulling the curtains shut behind him. No sense bursting into flame just because of carelessness.  
  
Of course, he was just nervous, that was all. Buffy was down with Millicent, having her check-up. Not long now before she would be down there giving birth. Angel chose his thoughts with utmost care when he thought about the birth. Most notably, he did not think of blood, miscarriages, C- sections, stillborn infants, and births resulting in death. The only way to survive this thing was to filter out the terror, he had decided, and until the moment came to act, that's what he was going to do. He was going to concentrate on the happy things about being a father. He was going to concentrate on handmade wooden cribs, rubber duckies, and baby's first steps. All the things that he'd missed with Connor. It really would be like being a father for the first time.  
  
He wasn't allowed to be at Buffy's check-ups, though he didn't really know why. One thing was for sure; it would be a lot healthier for his peace of mind if he was allowed to be down there. It was his Buffy, for god's sake. He needed to be with her, to make sure that she was alright. By now, the instinct to protect her was almost as ingrained as the one that told him to drink blood. And, from his viewpoint, far healthier.  
  
He began to pace, back and forth across the floor. There was a nest of vampires in an abandoned building that he was supposed to check out, and he was eagerly waiting for the storm to break so he could do just that. It seemed like the farther Buffy's pregnancy progressed, the more useless he felt.  
  
He scratched mindlessly at the scarring tissue on his arm. Just another injury to add to the list. He stopped when he looked down and saw that his nails had drawn blood. He growled. This check-up thing was driving him to distraction! And Buffy wasn't even having the baby yet.  
  
Deciding it would be best to bend the rules a little than go insane, Angel went downstairs to go check on Buffy.  
  
The door to the room was open, and he huffily worried about their privacy. If he couldn't watch, then why'd they leave the door open for any male buffoon to wander in? He peeked into the room and realized why. They weren't in there. There was a plastic bag on the table, some empty plastic wrappers, and a few used syringes, but no Buffy, and no Milli.  
  
He let the breeze hit his face and turned toward the open door. There was a balcony he'd never noticed before, and Buffy and Milli were sitting on the railing, staring out at the storm. Wet thunder rumbled ominously in the distance.  
  
Angel threw up a hand to shield his eyes from the intense brightness of the sun's rays. He had to check and make sure that he wasn't on fire, so bright was it in the sun. He watched as the two women sat and talked on the balcony. He'd forgotten how bright the midday sun could be, even when you weren't even out in it, but only looking.  
  
He waited for them to come back inside, blinking owlishly. Buffy's forehead was puckered in worry, but she brightened when she saw him. "Oh! Milli, get the curtains. Angel's here."  
  
The pink-haired witch smiled and shut the curtains and the door behind them. The sun's light was now muted enough that Angel's eyes didn't burn. He reached out a hand, touched Buffy tentatively on the shoulder, and, when no pain was incurred, brought her into a hug. His chin resting atop her head, he asked, "What is it this time? Or do I even want to know?"  
  
"Probably not. Actually, it might be a good thing if what Milli says is true. And it does mean you won't have to be bored and non-violent anymore."  
  
Angel smiled. "Buffy, quit beating around the bush. You're gonna have to tell me at some point; now is as good as any."  
  
Her sigh was muffled by cotton and vampire-flesh. "Fine. Milli says the baby's gonna come soon. But she also said that there's no way she can perform the kind of magick it's gonna require to get the baby out alive and kicking. Evil and powerful or not, she's still a baby, and intelligent enough not to want to leave the protection of the Slayer's body. So. Before her birthdate, we've gotta find someone powerful enough and willing enough to help our little demon girl into the world. Know anyone?"  
  
Angel chewed his lip. He thought he did, but he wasn't going to mention it quite yet. Not when there was such a potential for disappointment. He made a mental note to check on his associates in the demon world, as soon as night fell. Or as soon as the storm hit. Either way, he was going to be out on the streets tonight.  
  
***  
  
Buffy was sitting at a desk and staring at a blank piece of paper. There was something niggling in the back of her mind, some connection she should have made, something that was staring her right in the face and yet she couldn't see it. She thought about all the strange things that had been going on; Angel's semi-reflection, her demonic baby, the way Irene seemed to be able to control some outside physical sensations. The fact that, by all the evidence, the Oracles had picked up and left again. And the warning about Willow and their friends. Buffy hadn't even thought much about that one. It wasn't out of disrespect or apathy; it was just that she didn't think she could bear it. Sitting there, when her friends were somewhere else, hurting. It was so much easier to believe that they were in a happy place, but Buffy would not let her desires cloud her reason.  
  
Giles had always said that she lacked in organizational skills. Well, now was as good a time as any to get some. She began to make a list of all the things that were happening, and all the things that she thought she had to do.  
  
As she went, the list became more and more nebulous, until she found herself doodling a picture of a girl next to her observations about her pregnancy, and Irene's upcoming birth. She sketched down a rough figure of a tiny girl with choppy, short hair. She drew a stake in her hand, but that didn't seem right, so she erased it. Then she drew a pentacle necklace around the girl's neck. A five-point star in a circle on a chain. The girl was beginning to remind her of Willow, so she grabbed a red pen and colored in the girl's hair.  
  
Tired, she leaned back and yawned. And then did a double-take when she looked back down at the paper. Had she done that on purpose? How could...?  
  
She looked up wonderingly at the sky, thinking that maybe the Powers That Be weren't so heartless after all.  
  
She got up to find Angel and tell him what she'd found. 


	19. Chapter 17

"Willow." It was all connected. It all came back together. Willow was the key. It was a circle. Buffy knew this now. She'd known that she would have to rescue her friends from Hell, and she'd also known that she'd have to save her baby. The Powers' sense of irony wouldn't be complete without the two things being an answer to each other.

She would have to tell Angel. And Millicent. An odd reluctance overtook her. She had the answer now, or at least she thought she did. She knew Angel would be eager to accept her idea, to bring back those they loved. Though his own 'family' was lost to the fire, there would still be rejoicing at a reunion between him and the Scooby gang. She thought even Xander would be pleased to see Angel.

Perhaps her reluctance had something to do with her ingrained aversion to resurrection. Sense memory reminded her of the feel of splinters in her knuckles and dirt falling down around her. The feeling of being unable to breathe. The utter confusion and betrayal that she couldn't understand or escape.

She didn't want to be responsible for bringing that on someone else. What if the Powers were lying? What if they had lied to her to manipulate her into something else? She grasped at straws to avoid finding the truth. Because the responsibility of bringing all her friends back into this world--of giving birth to them, in a way, was just too much for her.

It hit her then, all that she was taking on. She was the Slayer. She was going to be a mother. She was a girlfriend. The weight of those that depended on her weighed her down. The burden of Irene's soul was like anathema to her. She wanted to run away. She'd thought that she was getting a fresh start when she was resurrected for the third time. Third time's the charm, right?

But all that had happened was that she was back in her old life, more alone than ever, and expected to have grown up and grown past all the petty fears of that other life.

Well, it hadn't happened yet.

She was scared. But she'd been scared before. She knew how to deal with it. After all, the biggest part of being a Slayer was killing the fear that came so naturally to a human being.

She walked down to Angel. She ran into other people on her way down the stairs, and it occurred to her to wonder what they thought of her. She hadn't exactly kept them in the know, and they had to know that something was wrong with Angel. The suspicious looks they gave her and the berth they left between her and themselves let her know that they were beginning to have a problem.

Perhaps it was Irene that they were scared of. Buffy knew her child was powerful, but she didn't know her boundaries. Maybe they could feel something wrong with her. Maybe Irene was projecting an aura of danger. She put her hand to her belly uncomfortably. She didn't like feeling like this.

She skirted the people she met in the halls. She took the stairs, mournfully passing the elevator, which had stopped working ever since the power went out, a few months ago. Nothing was wrong with the equipment, but the machines couldn't work without the people to run them. It was like living in the Dark Ages, looking back at the things that had come before and realizing how the mighty had fallen.

Buffy found Angel easily. He was on the first floor, speaking quietly with Millicent. She took him aside, walking as though in a dream.

"Angel," she said. "I've figured it out. Willow is the key. She's the only witch powerful enough to find Irene's soul and return it to her. She's the only answer. Thanks to that spell she performed to save them from the fire, we don't even have to actually do a resurrection. We just need to find a way to undo what she did. That won't be as hard."

The light of realization dawned on Angel's face. "Of course!" he said. "It makes sense. The powers...they led us around in a circle. They left us the clues, the arranged it. Of course it comes back to the Scoobies." He turned to face her. "I believe you, Buffy."

Irene gave a particularly vicious kick. "But it better be soon," Buffy said, "Because I don't know how much longer Irene is going to wait."

Of course, it wasn't like all their problems were solved. They still didn't know what spell Willow had used, or how they might reverse it. Millicent was able to offer no help, and they had no idea where they would be able to find texts dealing with the subject. If there even were any.

Despair was filling her up again. But as was her talent, she was able to turn that despair to rage. She turned to the wall in her room and punched yet another hole in it. Her fist hit the stud and she felt her knuckles crack. She grinned masochistically as she thought that she might have broken the bone.

Gingerly, she pulled her hand out of the hole. Bits of plaster and wood fell as she pulled her arm free. There was blood on her knuckles, and her whole hand was coated with a mixture of blood and crushed plaster.

Grimacing, she wiped her hand on her shirt. She surveyed the hole critically. It was then that she noticed the piece of paper sticking out prominently in the darkness. Just the corner of it, a lonely cream-colored fragment.

She reached in and withdrew it carefully. She felt the texture and reflected that it was old. The paper was crinkly and yellowed in her hands. Carefully, she laid it out on the desk and smoothed it down.

There were some symbols drawn on it. What looked like blueprints for the building's foundation, only very simple. At each corner, there were small symbols for fire, earth, water, and air. A pentagram resided in the center, with an arrow drawn to it, and a caption written in some other language.

She folded it carefully back up and went to go find Milli and Angel. Maybe _they _would be able to read it, since she couldn't make heads nor tails of it.

"It looks like a protection spell, as far as I can figure." Millicent turned the map upside down, then sideways. Then upside down again. "See these symbols? Fire, water, earth, and air. The four elements. Their positioning around the perimeter suggests that a spell was cast to protect the hotel when it was built, using the elements and their guardian spirits to keep out the bad ones and form a circle of protection."

She went on. "And do you see these runes here? These are what make it an especially powerful protection spell. Instead of just repelling the evil spirits away from itself, it actually repels _itself_ away from the evil spirits. The hotel exists on a slightly different dimension than its surroundings. The elements keep it anchored to our dimension, but whenever it or its occupants are threatened, it sinks slightly into this alternate dimension, protecting itself from any harm."

Millicent set the map on the desk, and placed her hands on her hips. She seemed very pleased with herself. Buffy was slightly surprised. She hadn't known that magick was so closely connected with science. Of course, she'd failed high school chemistry, so it didn't make a difference, really, but at least now she knew _why_ she didn't understand magick.

Angel hadn't said anything at all during this explanation, but rather looked at a spot on the floor and seemed as though his mind was far, far away.

Finally, he spoke. "Is it possible that this is the same type of spell that Willow used when she tried to protect them all from the fire and demons?"

Millicent looked startled. "I--I suppose. I mean, the idea of repelling yourself from the evil forces is the same, but I don't see how that helps us..."

"If we get the building to sink into its protective state, is it possible we would be in the same dimension as Willow and all the others?"

Millicent shook her head. "That's very unlikely. I mean, there are thousands of different dimensions, each one only slightly different than the others. While this spell is similar, it's very unlikely that we would end up in _exactly_ the same dimension..."

"Well, what if we modified it a little?" Buffy asked. "If it were threatened by fire, wouldn't it react exactly the same as Willow's spell?"

Again, Millicent shook her head. "No, the fire Willow was trying to escape was quite different. Unnatural fire from the sky..."

They looked at each other. "We could recreate that."

Millicent began to get excited. "You know, you're right. Even if we only got close, the nature of dimensional travel is such that it would create a slight rip in this spot through every dimension nearby. The protection spell will prevent any side effects, and once we're there, all it would take was a quick locator spell, or even a magickal flare, and we would be able to get Willow to us."

She looked up with excitement brimming in her eyes. Her expression said that she didn't know who to thank for this wonderful idea. "I'll get right on modifying the spell. We want to get as close to correct as possible, and I think I know a way to help a little."

She turned, walked a few steps, turned around, and said, "I'll let you know if it works. This is so freakin' cool!"

Then she trotted down the corridor toward her room, map clutched firmly yet gently in hand, and barely restraining herself from running.

Buffy smiled. "This is weird. For the first time in months, I feel like I actually have a shot of being truly, completely happy. Like everything's gonna work out."

Angel wrapped her in his arms. "I know what you mean. Only replace months with centuries, and you will understand."

Buffy pouted. "Drama queen."

"Valley girl."

They embraced, not knowing the trouble that lay before them still.


	20. Chapter 18

"Okay. All systems are go. Fire, check. Spell, check. Baby, check."

"No, Angel, we lost the baby some way back. It's just us now."

Angel smiled and ruffled her hair. "Your sarcasm is so cute sometimes, Buffy." His glare let her know of the sarcasm in his _own_ voice.

She stuck her tongue out. "Your can be so paranoid sometimes, Angel. Why can you just see the glass as half full? Everything's gonna be fine. All the ingredients are set, Millicent's hyped about doing this spell, and nothing could possibly go--"

Angel clapped a hand over her mouth to cut her off. "Don't even say it. You know better."

He moved his hand and Buffy gasped. "I can't believe I almost just said that. Are you sure you double-checked everything? Everybody's clear on how they have to stay out of our way? Oh my god, I'm so nervous now!"

"Welcome to the real world, Mrs. Glass Half-Full."

Despite Buffy's misgivings, everything was going smoothly. Millicent had all the ingredients for the spell. She was reasonably confident that everything was going to happen exactly as planned. She could already feel the energy flowing through her veins in the form of anticipation. Sweet-bitter anxiety flooded her mouth and made it taste like metal.

She had never worked something so big before. She was excited to do it, but the preparation and the act only reminded her of what she didn't have. She looked at Angel and Buffy, at their strength and courage and love, and she felt envy. She wished with all her heart that she could be like that. That she could have the courage of convictions to do what was right, to save the world.

She sighed and brushed her hair out of her face. Some people, she supposed, were just special. Some were chosen to be martyrs, and the rest, sheep. It all depended, she decided, on what a person decided to make of it. She readied her materials and prepared to cast circle.

She may not have been a Slayer, but she would still do her part when it came to saving the world.

Matt stood outside the imposing hotel. Everyone else had scattered. The hotel was empty, aside from Millicent, Buffy, Angel, and of course, the unborn child more powerful than all of them, Irene.

He wanted to be there. He wanted to be a part of all this. Now that the chips were down, everything that had happened before seemed petty and cruel. He felt like a moron.

When it came down to it, he loved Buffy. He wanted to be near her. He wanted to love her, to help her. But he couldn't. He couldn't because of his own jealous, violent, childish nature. Because of the way he'd behaved, the way he'd reacted.

He wanted all of those things from her, but he would settle for one. He could still help her. Angel didn't trust him, and with good cause. Buffy didn't even trust him, and that was why he was here. Outside, with the others, instead of helping the way he knew he could.

He knew it. He _knew_ that they would need him.

He turned his back on the outside, and stepped in through dirty glass doors to face whatever destiny might hand him.

Buffy and Angel stood like silent sentinels on either side of the doorway. Millicent was in the middle of the room, candles set at each of the points of her pentagram. Purple sand marked the shape of the circle, and the room filled with the scent of the burning incense set at the middle.

Millicent lit the two tall white candles in the middle and began to chant slowly. Buffy watched intently as her face flushed and she began to sweat. She wondered where it was, exactly, that Millicent was expending all her energy. Where was all that power going, that she couldn't even see it?

Then she noticed the orange-colored light that coalesced like dust particles around the perimeter of the circle. As she watched, the light became stronger and began to creep away from its center, which, it was now evident, was Milli. It came toward them slowly and inexorably, like the tide. It brushed its curious fingers against her ankles, then her knees, her stomach, where Irene kicked in protest, and then her face. She took in a sharp breath, trying not to panic. She could almost see the light settling in her lungs like cigarette smoke.

She released her breath and looked over at Angel. He gave her a slow, reassuring smile. In return, she gave him the thumbs-up. It wouldn't do for the Slayer to be afraid of a little dust. No, sir.

The light had moved out into the hallway by now, and it was still getting brighter. Then, Buffy heard a surprised cry from Millicent. Lines of bright fire expanded along the dust, burning rapidly and excitedly. Buffy fought the urge to scream. Again, she looked to Angel, who was also looking paler than usual. He had an excuse. Fire was one of the few things that could kill a vampire. She remembered vividly the light settling inside her, and looked down at her chest fearfully, as if that, too would ignite.

But she trusted Millicent. If she said this would work, it would. Irene was still shifting uneasily in her womb.

The fire expanded. The room seemed to be burning, but the walls weren't on fire. It was the air, the air that was burning. And the fire had no smoke. It became more surreal by the second, as the fire began to grow transparent. It was working. They were shifting out of their own dimension into someplace that was _other_.

The fire faded and faded, as did the orange light, until it was gone. Buffy breathed in deeply of the clean air, only to notice that it smelled different. Like reptile skin and wet dirt. She looked at Millicent, but the girl was passed out on the floor, breathing deeply and peacefully.

The world they now found themselves in was, at first glance, not unlike their own. Buffy stepped out into the hallway, followed immediately by Angel. He touched the small of her back protectively, letting his hand rest there as they walked.

They came to the lobby of the hotel and looked out the windows with horror. Something had gone horribly, terribly wrong.

They were supposed to be in a dimension so close to there own as to be virtually indistinguishable. This world was _very_ distinguishable.

For starters, everything was coated in a thin sheen of ice. Instead of quasi-normal buildings, there were craggy rocks that looked to be made of solidified magma. The sky was dull, a steel gray that indicated heavy cloud cover, and the occasional streak of hot blue lightning. Everything was illuminated in blue, icy light, merely adding to the perception of cold.

They were situated at the bottom end of a dark valley. Mountains, sharp and irregular, rose steeply on either side of them, but in the distance, toward the other end of the valley, Buffy could make out a structure that looked vaguely human in nature. There were tiny twinkling lights on that mountain, leading her to believe that there would be people there.

Although she shuddered to think what the people of this world would look like.

They didn't go outside for awhile. They wanted to wait for Milli to come to, and to discuss their options before they did anything. But they couldn't entirely tear themselves away from the shocking landscape outside, so they sat in the lobby, seated in comfortable armchairs as they watched the electric storm rain unceasing electricity on the barren earth outside. Angel wondered uncomfortably how likely they would be to be struck by lighting if they went out there. There were no trees in view of the naked eye. Only rock and ice.

"I'm worried about climbing," Buffy said. She gestured down at her obvious stomach. "I don't know if I'll be able to make it up there. I can try, but..."

"That's alright, in fact, I really wish you wouldn't try. I keep picturing you getting off-balance while climbing and then falling off those rocks to the valley, splatting on the..."

"Okay, Angel, that's enough of that. Are you _trying_ to freak me out? But I don't want you going alone. And no offense to Milli, but if there's a fight, I'm the only one I trust to have your back."

"I can take care of myself, Buffy."

She gave him a look. "Alright, well, how would you feel if it was me going out there alone?"

There was a long silence. Angel took a deep breath, conspicuous by its irregularity. "Okay, I understand how you feel. But Buffy, there's no help for it. What are we going to do, wait here for you to give birth, recover, and then go find Willow? Kind of defeats the purpose if Irene's already here by the time Willow can get here."

Buffy sighed and drooped. She slid down in the chair and pouted. She was defeated. Angel was right; he was going to have to go alone.

Just then, Millicent appeared from the hallway. She was a little wobbly on her legs, a little pale, but she had her jaw clenched and looked determined.

"Why don't you have a seat, Milli? You look like you're about three seconds away from collapse," Angel said. He helped her to a chair.

She flopped down and took a couple of deep breaths, looking out the window the whole time. "Well, we're not in Kansas anymore, folks."

Buffy gave her a wry smile. "Yeah, we kind of figured. So, do you think it worked? Is Willow here?"

Millicent smiled weakly. "Well, _something_'s here. Something or someone very powerful is giving off _vibes_ from that castle on the hill there. If Willow's as powerful and distinctive as you say she is, then it might be her. I don't know how to explain it but...the aura tastes like strawberries."

"That's her," Buffy said, voice heavy with conviction. She vividly remembered their conversations about Rack and the way he'd told her she tasted of strawberries.

Milli gave her a quizzical look. "How do you know?"

Buffy shook her head. "Don't ask. It's not a happy stor--ahhh!" She didn't finish her sentence because a wave of pain rippled through her midsection. She grabbed her stomach. A second later, she felt something wet and sticky between her legs.

"Oh, my," she said softly. Angel and Millicent were staring at her. Speaking up, she said, "You'd better hope we're in the right place, because I don't think Irene's going to wait any longer. My water just broke."


	21. Chapter 19

They helped her to a convenient couch in the lobby. Angel carried her, despite her vigorous protests. "Come on, Angel, it's really, it doesn't hurt that ba--aaahhah!" She clutched at her stomach. Wetness spread between her thighs.

Millicent looked perfectly calm as she felt Buffy's forehead, checked her pulse, and looked at her watch to time the contractions. She knew what she was doing here. She was in her element, such that it was.

Angel's brow was deeply furrowed. He watched his mate, with a pale face and sweat breaking out across her brow, and then he watched the rippling across her bloated stomach. He could stay here. Hold her hand through ten or twelve or twenty-four hours of labor, if that's what it took, and hold their baby in his arms when she tasted her first breath.

But at what cost? What a baby it would be. A demon child with power and the soullessness to carry out anything she wanted.

His human side and his warrior side fought for mere seconds, before the obvious winner emerged. He could not stay here. He had to go, had to fight for the life he and Buffy had created, even before she made her first cry.

He knelt next to Buffy. Millicent stood back and watched them. A look of gentle happiness crossed her face, and she hastily backed away, both to leave them alone together, and to retrieve her supplies.

Angel took Buffy's hand tightly in his own. She turned to look at him, and her eyes watered, even as she set her jaw. "You have to go," she said firmly. He smiled inwardly, pleased that she was the one to say it.

"Yes," he said. "I have to find Willow. And you have to stay here."

Her eyes teared up. "I know this isn't goodbye. I know it. But it's still so hard to let you go. What if you don't come back? What if it's like...what if it's like before? What if you just disappear into the dark and you never come back?

"And...what if I don't make it through this? Angel, lots of women don't survive childbirth, and that's normal women, women who don't have a soulless child being delivered into their arms. What if you don't make it back in time?"

Her questions ended and she scrunched up her face in pain as a contraction came over her. "OH. Ow...Angel," she sighed.

Angel rubbed his thumb across her hand agitatedly. "Buffy, I can't see the future. I don't know what will happen. But short of being killed, nothing can stop me from returning to you now. Nothing. We just have to pray that everything will work out."

He bent his head and kissed her knuckles. Then he hugged her. She sniffled and wiped at her eyes. "Alright," she said. "If you're going to go, you better go now, before I get my ass up off of this couch and come with you."

Angel smiled weakly, and got to his feet.

He had no weapons. This made it easier for him to scale the rocky crags on his way to the mountain, but the lack of weight weighed heavily on his mind. He would have to rely on stealth instead of power now. He didn't even know what he was up against. The best tack, he decided, was to slip in as quickly as he could, and then get out. If he timed it right, he could make his escape and they could be gone before the gang's captors could give chase.

The rocks he climbed were some sort of hardened lava rocks. They were porous and sharp, and they gashed at his hands. The pain and the scent of his own blood only served to hurry him on his way. He used his preternatural strength and speed to scale the rock faces as quickly as physically possible.

Still, it took him hours. At every plateau, he stopped to look first forward, then back. From the outside, he could see obvious changes in the structure of the hotel. According to Milli's theory, the hotel, then, had always been in both this dimension _and_ the other. Still, it looked oddly out of place against the barren landscape.

In contrast, the castle on the mountain looked like something out of a gothic horror novel. Frankenstein's castle, perhaps. Or Dracula's. In which case, he was perfectly happy to converse with his old-time enemy. He smiled, wishing it could be so easy.

As he got closer, he could see the distinctly metallic material that the castle was made of, as opposed to stone. He changed his theory. It wasn't like a gothic novel at all. It was a science fiction novel. No lights and no sounds emanated from inside. It was like a great, hollow shell.

As he approached, he crouched cautiously. He could see neither way in nor way out. And still there was no sign of life from the gargantuan mausoleum of a building. He reached, finally, the metallic wall. He pressed a hand against it, and was met with cold resistance. He felt along the wall for any kind of catch, any sort of opening.

He rested his cheek against the wall. "Please," he whispered, begging the thing to open. "Please."

Some dark god must have heard and answered his prayer, because just then, two blue things came out, stalking along on thick blue legs with a tail for support. They were so unique, they were unlike any demon he'd ever seen. Their muscular build was unlike anything human. He was positive now, that they were in another place, another dimension, another world. Nothing like this could ever evolve on his earth.

Stunned as he was, he still didn't miss his chance to slip along the lit doorway and into the main hall beyond. Stealth was his specialty, and speed ranked not far behind. He felt he had reason to be proud as he slid among shadows that were barely there, avoiding notice from these creatures he could barely fathom.

His next order of business to find the place where the prisoners were kept, more specifically, Xander, Willow, Giles, Dawn, and the others.

He paused for a moment to inspect the great hall he was now in. The blue-skinned beasts walked comfortably among each other, some decorated in graceful jewelry and scarves, others completely naked.

In the center of the room were two great glass cases. Gilded chains laid abandoned on the floor. Angel realized that what he was looking for were not prisoners. They were specimens, as clearly as the glass cases were display boxes.

He thanked the gods again that the cases were empty. It would have been nigh impossible to sneak people from those cases without being noticed. But this also left him at another dead-end? Should he just wander the corridors until he stumbled upon his companions? Or was there perhaps another way?

Along either side of the hallway were numerous doors. Raised up high on a sloping walkway was another doorway, leading straight ahead. Reasoning that since they were considered specimens, they would be treated well, Angel followed his theory and made his way toward the walkways.

He crept quietly and swiftly along the edge of the room, watching the shimmering blue creatures dance and mingle with each other. From the shadows, he watched. And waited. The two sloping walkways were well-lit. Too well-lit. There were too many eyes here, too many ears to hear him.

He found a secluded, dark corner and watched the proceedings silently, hoping for a lull in the activity, a chance for him to escape without being noticed.

But it seemed his luck had run out. The beings continued their festivities without fading or slowing down for hours upon hours. As Angel waited, he thought of Buffy. It had been about six hours since he had left her. Since her labor had begun.

He tried to feel for her, her presence. He didn't care if he missed the baby's arrival at this point, only that Buffy be safe. He was dangerously close to not even caring if the baby made it or not, only that Buffy did.

He waited and he waited, and these thoughts chewed each other through his brain. He couldn't stop thinking about Buffy and the baby, and he could practically feel the hours of the clock tick-tocking away, slowly counting down towards Irene's birth--or her death.

He sucked in a nervous breath. Okay. So he didn't have time to wait for them to leave anymore. So he would have to do it the hard way. By force.

A considerable task, since he didn't have weaponry of any kind. Though he missed his humanity, it was times like this that he was glad that he was a vampire again. He mapped his route quickly in his head, and prayed that the door would be unlocked.

As he climbed to his feet, he felt the stolen blood in his veins throb excitedly to his extremities. His limbs warmed up quickly, and before he knew what he was doing, he was dashing toward the door.

He didn't stop to see if the blue creatures were watching him, frankly, because he was scared. He didn't need any distractions, because who knew what was on the other side of that door?

He flitted quickly up the ramp and then slammed his full body weight against the doors. Thankfully, they were made of some sort of light-weight material that ruptured easily under Angel's formidable application of strength.

On the other side of the door, it was darker. Angel was immediately met by two guards, with ceremonial-looking spears and headdresses. It reminded Angel somewhat of the Wizard of Oz. Without even thinking, he slammed one guard to the ground, using the element of surprise and his continued momentum to his advantage. The other attempted to spear him through the back, but he twisted down and sideways, and was able to catch the other in an awkward position midway through his run.

He lifted the first guard's spear up, and while the other was down, he spun and whacked him soundly across the back of the neck with the thick shaft.

All of this took place in about thirty seconds. Before the second guard even hit the ground, Angel was off and running again.

He slowed when it appeared he wasn't being followed, but still, he walked quickly. Fortunately, there were no extraneous doors; only a large, red one at the very end of the corridor.

He reached it quickly, and though it was locked, he was able to break through this one, too. A second foyer greeted him, but amongst all the doors that he now had to choose from, his choice was obvious.

A small, unobtrusive door off to the side, which he could see through the windows led to the top of the tower. Tradition dictated that that was where he would find his old companions.

This door was unlocked. Angel allowed himself a wry grin. Obviously, the master of the castle had not expected someone to be able to break through the first two doors.

The staircase was an old-fashioned spiral stairway, built individual stones, not carved, as the rest of the place's interior had been. Angel, though, was not all that interested in the architecture. He imagined that right about now, the guards of the palace were rallying together to prevent him from escaping. He was hoping that he, as a vampire, would be a novelty to them in this dimension, thereby making his escape that much easier.

But Willow, Xander, Dawn, Tara, Anya, Giles, and God forbid, Spike, would be harder to sneak out with. Spike could hold his own. Angel knew he could now count on Willow and Giles, to some degree. But the rest were merely untrained humans, and Dawn still a child, at that. It would be harder to get out with eight than it had been to come in with one.

His strategizing took him to the top of the stairs. With frustration, he flung this final door completely off its hinges. And was relieved to see them all there, all unharmed.

Except, of course, for the fact that they were naked and emaciated. And behind bars about six inches in diameter.

To make matters worse, Angel could hear the heavy clamor of numerous footsteps coming up the stairs.


End file.
